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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24027172">sick of losing soulmates</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/julying/pseuds/julying'>julying</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supergirl (TV 2015)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>+ galas and game nights, Alternate Universe - To All the Boys I've Loved Before Fusion, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Sort Of, aka kara doesn’t even get a letter, also NOT a highschool au even tho it's tatbilb so there's that, and there’s also (a lot of) (secondary) (spicy) rojascorp drama, but it is, but sam veronica !!andrea!! do, honestly just took a ~part of the concept and made it gay, tatbilb au, they're all adults ok? ok bye</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:27:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,925</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24027172</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/julying/pseuds/julying</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Where did you get <em>that</em>?”</p><p>Sam furrows her eyebrows, looks up at her with such intensity of confusion that it’s visible in HD clarity despite the buffering of her screen. “You…sent it to me?”</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Lena says, winded and on edge, staring pointedly at the letter grasped between Sam’s fingers. What the fuck. <em>What </em>the fuck. <em>What </em>the <em>fuc—</em>“I <em>didn’t</em> send that to you.”</p><p>Sam opens her mouth, and then closes it. Lena honest-to-god feels like she’s about to faint. </p><p>alternatively: [TATBILB au] Things go wrong when the letters get out, they get worse when Andrea comes crashing back into her life with no warning, they get wors<em>er</em> when Kara is the best goddamn fake girlfriend in the whole wide world.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>644</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. attn:how i ruined everything by saying it out loud</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>work title from the dodie song<br/>chapter title from litany in which certain things are crossed out by richard siken</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This was never a part of the plan. </p><p>Actually, there was no plan. </p><p>And if there ever <em>was</em>, the letters would most definitely <em>not</em> be a part of it. They wouldn’t even be in the eighteenth slide of the end credits under <em>Man Walking On The Road No. 13</em>—they’d be buried six feet under set location before the movie ever even began filming. They were not-a-part-of-the-plan to <em>that </em>degree.</p><p>But. </p><p>Lena Luthor is <em>Lena</em> <em>Luthor</em>, and her perfect plans always manage to fuck themselves up and rearrange into the most tangled of tragedies, and this was just the history of her worst luck repeated.</p><p>Sam issaying something, Lena can sense that, vaguely, in the back of her head, but that doesn’t seem to quite hold the power to snap her back from her trance. And, the thing is, she’s even trying to pay attention, trying to concentrate, but all she really seems to actually be capable of registering is that she’s smack-dab in the middle of her scariest nightmare. </p><p>It happens, in times like these, the disconnect from reality—the stutter in her brain whenever she faces a possible life-altering adversity; when she feels every atom of chaos bubble up inside of her in the eerie sense, building up further and further, like a premonition of just how bad things are going to get. And it always lasts for a few long moments before Lena jerks herself back to reality and it all settles in more concretely and— </p><p>And. <em>Oh god. </em>Lena is fucked. </p><p>“Where did you get <em>that</em>?”</p><p>Sam furrows her eyebrows, looks up at her with such intensity of confusion that it’s visible in HD clarity despite the buffering of her screen. “You…sent it to me?”</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Lena says, winded and on edge, staring pointedly at the letter grasped between Sam’s fingers. What the fuck. <em>What </em>the fuck. <em>What </em>the <em>fuc—</em>“I <em>didn’t</em> send that to you.”</p><p>Sam opens her mouth, and then closes it. Lena honest-to-god feels like she’s about to faint. </p><p>Sam takes in a dramatic deep breath, and Lena thinks she’s going to burst into tears and then into flames any second now. “Look, Lena, it’s clear you wrote it long back, and. I don’t know why you sent it now, after all this time, but if you regret it…we don’t have to acknowledge it beyond—”</p><p>“I <em>didn’t </em>send it,” Lena repeats, borderline-yelling at this point, punctuating each separate word with such force that if she emphasized it any more, she’s certain they’d manifest into proper tangible solids—<em>undeniable</em>—in front of Sam. “I did not send it.”</p><p>“Okay,” Sam hesitantly agrees, raises up a hand in surrender, but her face is still twisted in the same expression of pity and concern warped together into something sad that it was before and Lena can see her words vaporize into meaningless nothings instead. “I just—I’m just saying that even if you <em>did</em>—which you <em>didn’t!</em>—it’s okay, I swear. It was sweet. Very flattering.”</p><p>Then, Lena sees her words fucking vanish altogether. Poof. Gone. And—and all she wants to do at that moment is to grab the fluffiest pillow she owns, press it to her face and scream. Loud. <em>Hard</em>. </p><p>Petulantly, she says again, like a broken record, “I didn’t send it, Sam—”</p><p>“I’m not saying you did!” Sam replies, grips the letter harder and then puts it somewhere below the camera can capture. “I just—I got it in the mail. Today. It was sent to Patricia’s farm and rerouted to me and—Lena,” her voice becomes softer—more gentle, more careful. “Even if you didn’t send it…youdid <em>write</em> it, correct? I just. I recognized the handwriting, and I could be wrong but,” she sighs. “I don’t know.”</p><p>Lena clenches her jaw, and her throat completely seizes up. </p><p>Sam’s <em>not </em>wrong, is the thing. She did write it, and maybe that’s why it’s making her head hurt so much.</p><p>She’s—she’s having a moment now, properly, in full effect, needs a second to recollect and reacquaint, and all the memories—the <em>letters</em>—are slowly catching up to her, floating in her head, one by one, then all at once.</p><p>Images of her hunched over her desk at the Luthor Manor, looking over her shoulder every two seconds, praying she doesn’t get caught; at the backbench in geography, quick and desperate, avoiding eye-contact; under her blanket in her dorm, aggressive teardrops spilling onto the paper; under the bleachers, frustrated, exhausted, tired, hopelessly, stupidly in love. </p><p>She can hear a faint buzzing, getting louder every passing second, drowning out Sam’s incessant <em>Lena? Lena, you okay? </em>completely till it overpowers it and penetrates through.</p><p>“<em>Lena</em>,” Sam repeats, sharper, and Lena focuses all her energy into meeting her eyes. “You with me?”</p><p>“Yeah,” she whispers, shakes her head, gets some blood flow back to her brain and grips the fabric of her slacks so tight that her knuckles turn white. “Yes, I’m…here,” she finally answers. “And…yes,” she says, voice low, ashamed, “I did write it.”</p><p>Sam’s eyes soften. “Why didn’t you just tell me—”</p><p>“It was a long time ago,” Lena explains quietly, the visions of each letter still attacking—<em>torturing</em>—her. “I wrote them years back—”</p><p>“<em>Them</em>?” Sam interrupts, too quick to hide the shock in her voice. “As in more than one? Like, multiple?”</p><p>Lena lets out a hollow chuckle, the images still too fresh, still swimming in her head. “Thought you were special, huh?”</p><p>Sam smiles. “I’m not gonna lie, it <em>was</em> kind of awesome reading a letter singing my praises written by <em>you</em>. Even if it was written by the angsty teen version of you.”</p><p>“Mortifying is the adjective I’d rather use,” Lena scoffs. </p><p>Sam shakes her head, pauses, averts her gaze for a second and then, <em>really </em>looks at her, with narrowed eyes, “You wrote these to how many people?”</p><p>“Four,” Lena replies, cringes when she sees how Sam's mouth hangs open at the admission. “<em>Actually</em>, three,” she rectifies, quick and urgent, if only for damage control. “The fourth one is—it’s safe. So, technically…three.”</p><p>Sam furrows her eyebrows, voice echoing oddly from her speaker, “Safe?”</p><p>Lena mumbles out an explanation, more embarrassed than she thought she would be, “I flushed it down after writing it.”</p><p>Sam looks like she wants Lena to elaborate for a microsecond, but ultimately decides to drop it instead. “And the other two were to—do I know them?”</p><p>Lena nods, meek and morose, mentally prepares herself for the reaction. </p><p>“Veronica,” she says, catches Sam’s grimace, but chooses very consciously to ignore it. She looks down before she says the other one, doesn’t even want to meet Sam’s eyes for it, it’s <em>that </em>horrifying. “And…Andrea.”</p><p>“Andrea<em> Rojas?</em>”</p><p>“How many Andrea’s do we have in common, Sam?” Lena snaps, voice shrill. “<em>Yes, </em>Andrea Rojas. <em>God.</em>” </p><p>“Right. Right, sorry,” Sam apologizes, schools her expression into a much more neutral one. “Ok<em>aaa</em>y, this is—alright. This is…alright.”</p><p>“See?” Lena asks, burying her face in her palm. “You <em>know </em>it’s not alright—”</p><p><em>“</em>You should talk to them,” Sam cuts off. “To Andrea, at least. Let her know you didn’t send—”</p><p>Lena interrupts, reply automatic, absolute and final, without any consideration: “No.”</p><p>“She’ll want to talk to you,” Sam reasons, all logical and completely unhelpful.</p><p>“We hadn’t spoken for literal <em>years</em> in the middle,” Lena justifies. “It’s—we just became friendly again, Sam. <em>Just </em>became acquainted. I’m not fucking it up again—”</p><p>“You’ll fuck it up by <em>not</em> talking to her. The letter doesn't have to jeopardize your friendship. Not if you don’t let it.”</p><p>Lena stays quiet for about ten seconds, sighs, and says, “It complicates it.”</p><p>“Maybe,” Sam considers, voice soft. “It was a long time ago, though. I’m pretty sure she’s mature enough to understand that.”</p><p>Lena nods, her heart finally returning to a semi-normal pace. “So,” Lena sighs, sort of prepared for rock bottom, sort of expecting it to go several levels down further. “What are you suggesting?”</p><p>“I’m suggesting,” Sam says, patient, slow, “That you call Andrea. Sooner rather than later.”</p><p>Lena groans.</p><p>Pillow. </p><p>Face. </p><p><em>Scream</em>.</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>The first love-letter Lena ever wrote was to Lana Lang. </p><p>It was a bit of a cliché, falling for Lex’s girlfriend and all, but. </p><p>She was freshy 11, and for all practical purposes, she was still a <em>child</em> with ugly braces and big nerdy glasses—no friends, nothing special—and (Lana was the only person who spoke to her in a language exclusive of insults) she thinks that excuses a big portion of it. </p><p>It’s hard to admit, the whole crush, has <em>always</em> been sort of hard to admit but she’s an adult now, and Lex is no longer in her life, so admitting it doesn’t quite feel like stabbing herself with forty different daggers anymore. </p><p>She knows how it sounds, alright? Brother’s girlfriend and whatnot, she <em>gets </em>it, understands that she was some sort of a jealous backstabbing piece of garbage for a sister, gets all the reasons why it wasn’t allowed, why it was forbidden, why it was wrong—truly, Lena <em>understands</em> it. </p><p>It’s just—</p><p>It was the time she used to get picked at the way most kids in middle school got picked at. (And then, got picked at the way most people in middle school did<em> not </em>get picked at…where she got special treatment, an extra-sprinkle/massive-fucking-buttload of bullying which sometimes even rivaled what she faced at home, was sometimes even crueler.) </p><p>And. And Lana was the only person who made her feel something other than shitty, even if it was fleeting.</p><p>Lana was her first love-letter, her first palms-clammy-and-heart-racing crush, her First Crush in all the ways it mattered, the one she remembers every sleepless night over and every butterfly in the tummy of. The one that <em>really</em> ingrained itself into her memory, overwrote her drive and established itself as some sort of permanent, integral document in her brain’s ROM.</p><p>But…Lana was still Lex’s girlfriend, and then she was Lex’s ex-girlfriend, so really, that crush flushed itself down the drain right alongside the letter. </p><p>Short, sweet, tragic.</p><p>Then, there was Samantha Arias. </p><p>(There still <em>is </em>Samantha Arias, and that’s more than she can say about the rest of them.)</p><p>And, if it was up to her, she’d have rather flushed that letter down too, if only the drainage system at the shared bathroom of her boarding room was as good as the one back in the Luthor Manor.</p><p>She doesn’t know how that one came to be, still isn’t sure, (because 13 year old Lena knew love just as well as present Lena does, which is not really all that well at all), but she remembers thinking Sam was the only one who talked to her or acknowledged her or made her feel <em>seen</em> even when everyone else treated her like an outcast. She doesn’t know if she actually, properly loved Sam (or if she was just an extension to her repressed familiarity-crush on Lana) but it definitely felt something <em>like </em>love, at the very least. </p><p>So, it wasn’t that hard—all things considered—loving Samantha Arias. Lena just settled the love deep into her heart, safe and secure, let it brew and grow and take over, and it never came rushing out like bile, and that felt like a good enough bargain. </p><p>(Sam was Sam, and Sam is still Sam, and Lena knows she’ll always love her in some capacity or the other, and that’s always been easy to live with, <em>always </em>been a good enough bargain.)</p><p>Roulette was next. </p><p>The <em>real </em>first.</p><p>First kiss. First not-girlfriend-but-something. First regret (...or, something like regret) (Veronica was her first <em>everything </em>big, and sometimes she hopes it was someone who didn’t hurt her as much, but she never specifically hopes it wasn’t Veronica). </p><p>She still remembers this one in painful, gruesome detail even when the whole thing felt like a fever-dream, maybe because she’s older and looking back and seeing the whole picture for what it truly was doesn’t hurt as much as living through, maybe because she has actual physical scars to show for it but—</p><p>She remembers it. All of it. Remembers sneaking into the locker room during Gym, remembers getting high off cheap weed and running to the dorms mid-lunch, remembers the rush of every stolen kiss and the warmth of every rare hug.</p><p>Remembers Veronica tell her after every single time they touched that it meant absolutely nothing.</p><p>Also remembers asking anyway—hopefully, foolishly—remembers murmuring a post-orgasm <em>what are we </em>in a haze, remembers her heart shatter with the <em>you thought i actually liked you enough to be with you?</em>, remembers the sting she felt just as fresh as she remembers getting laughed at when she cried<em>, </em>remembers pathetically pleading Veronica to stop torturing her,remembers Veronica torture her more anyway, remembers being stupid enough to think it’d get better and—then, then remembers writing the letter, aggressive, clouded eyes, clouded head, tears dropping onto the paper and smudging up her words.</p><p>And, that was that, for the most part. There was no climax with Roulette, no proper start, no proper ending, no proper goodbye.</p><p>She liked Veronica the way she hated herself—in the most masochistic and destructive way, liked her so<em> so </em>much that she felt she couldn’t function without her…at least, until Andrea Rojas came along.</p><p>(And, then, it started feeling like she couldn't function without <em>her </em>instead.)</p><p>Andrea Rojas who wasn’t even a chapter in her story like the rest. Andrea who had a whole exclusive fucking trilogy instead. </p><p>Andrea who physically foughtVeronica for making her cry all those nights, who framed the Valentine Lena made her after all the other girls from year 9 threw it in the trash, who vowed to protect her, who held her day-in and day-out for as long as she wanted and then some more just because, who was gentler than Lena was ever used to or deserving of, who treated her like she was <em>precious, </em>who made her feel so fucking special and so fucking loved that Lena actually deluded herself into thinking that she might really have a shot this time.</p><p>(Andrea who, for all intents and purposes, was her actualfirst true love.)</p><p>But, of <em>course </em>she didn’t have a shot and of <em>course </em>everything went to shit, like it always fucking did. </p><p>And then Andrea turned to someone who stopped bothering with her, slowly, surely, who became distant and more distant and very <em>very </em>d i s t a n t till Lena couldn’t even look at her without burning her heart to ash.</p><p>(Andrea who, for all intents and purposes, was her actual first true heartbreak.)</p><p>Lena remembers wanting to get over her much more than ever wanting to be with her, remembers praying each night that she falls in love with someone else someday, finally gets over Andrea fucking Rojas and loves someone who might actually love her back.</p><p>But tragically, that didn’t happen and then—</p><p><em>Then</em>, the whole Lex thing blew up.</p><p>And her and Andrea had a big, ugly fight and Lena moved away and—there was no other way for Lena to express herself, no other way to even contact Andrea or start over, so…she decided to write one final letter.</p><p>And, then it was over for good. The crush, sort of. The letter writing, completely.</p><p>She wrote four letters. Only three that <em>still </em>exist. No postal address, no stamps—safe in the confines of her closet. </p><p>She never sent them out. </p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>She ends up not-calling Andrea, very surprisingly. </p><p>(The typed-retyped-erased texts don’t count as progress on that front, according to Sam.)</p><p>(She does add SOS A.R. LETTER TEXT NOW in her calendar as a weekly reminder, though, and decides to count <em>that </em>as progress sans Sam consultation. </p><p>That’s good enough. For now.)</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>She tries to forget about it—the letters, Andrea, etc. </p><p>Momentarily succeeds too, in ways that are very real and immediate, like managing to convince herself that maybe Sam’s letter was the only one that got sent out: she might’ve dropped it, might’ve left it at her dorm, might’ve donesomething to that one particular specific letter only (might’ve might’ve might’ve <em>must have</em>—) and the rest were safe. </p><p>Maybe the panic <em>is</em> unwarranted. </p><p>(She can’t bring herself to check. Can’t go dig in her closet and find out for herself, for once and for all, doesn’t have it in her to even possibly put herself out of imaginary misery to <em>real</em> scary actual misery.)</p><p>She placates herself, really, truly, has always been good at self-soothing. Calms herself down enough to stop thinking about it every waking minute of her work day and actually do other human CEO business person things.</p><p>Until.</p><p>Until that theory disintegrates and granulates when she sees a box in the middle of her desk, addressed from a name that always<em>always</em> accompanies the most uncomfortable spike in her heart rate: Veronica Sinclair.</p><p>And, then, her mind literally numbs. Which, very possibly, is, by this point, a reflex. Because this <em>confirms </em>it, and the letter<em>s</em> are out and—</p><p>Lena isn’t dumb, okay? She knows there’s only one possible reason for Veronica to be contacting her after all this time, knows it’s the letter, but she still doesn’t rush to the box, doesn’t hastily tear apart the packaging and scrutinize the contents. </p><p>Her first reaction, instead, is to really give herself time to panic, has <em>always</em> been to panic properly, beforehand, no matter how much Luthor DNA is encoded into her gene product. </p><p>(Her first reaction is, more molecularly, more candidly, Andrea<em>Andrea</em>Andrea and <em>what the fuck </em>and <em>what will i do now</em> and also <em>Andrea </em>and <em>oh my god Andrea </em>and just fucking <em>Andrea </em>even when a more pertinent issue of <em>Veronica </em>is at the forefront.</p><p>She boxes that thought process up and away as a problem to unpack at a later/never date.)</p><p>Lena knows, logically, that it’s always better get it over and done with than to stretch it out. Quicker reaction, less explanation. Ripping off the bandaid and moving on to the healing.</p><p>So, again, <em>logically, </em>she knows that the next step here is to open the box, look at whatever physical form of torture is awaiting her and getting rid of it. Out of sight, out of mind, onto the next hurdle. It’s the correct way to go about things, she <em>knows </em>it, but even the thought of doing a single step of that sequence makes her halt. She’s not ready. By any means.</p><p>It’s not about Veronica, per se. More about how that’ll make her a step closer to dealing with Andrea aka the next hurdle aka the <em>only </em>hurdle. How that situation will get all the more in her fucking face.</p><p>But Lena always picks out the logical route anyway, after the panicking and the consideration, has lived through enough to know elongation won’t reap her any benefits so she gets to it. </p><p>She opens the box.</p><p>Calculated. Methodical. Chaotic.</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>Lena likes to think she’s a fully functional adult. She feels like she’s gone through eleven different puberties in this lifetime alone, has grown and grown and grown and thinks she might even like the person she has grown up to be, really prides herself for it—because of x, despite of y—that she has <em>matured.</em> She knows it, has no doubt, but getting humiliated by Veronica Sinclair again really derails that. </p><p>She puts each item down on her desk after a quick glance, doesn’t linger, doesn’t dawdle, goes through the pile pretty quickly, but most of it is blurred by the haze in her eyes, watering more and more each next <em>gift, </em>and Lena <em>has </em>grown, it’s irrefutable, but something about this whole situation makes her feel fifteen again, in the worst way.</p><p>Her eyes dry quickly, and she redirects her vision to a very interesting spot on her carpet, pointedly ignores the sudden unbearable weight in her chest, tearing up her insides bit by bit, reminds herself she’s different now, she has changed, she’s learned how to stitch herself back up, better than before, stronger than ever, and if Veronica can’t see that, if she thinks she can still hurt her, all this time later, then—then that <em>sucks</em>, because it’s not true. </p><p>She wills herself to move to the next step then, (because there’s <em>so </em>many steps, so <em>many</em> that they seem astronomical from where she’s standing, steps she knows she has to take, that she’s already established just get bigger with the wait), breathes a little easier when she figures that the hardest part of <em>this</em> particular step is over, and that makes a difference, however small.</p><p>But before she can do that, cross it out successfully from her list, Kara comes waltzing through her door, with practiced ease, two <em>large</em> takeout bags of Big Belly Burger in her hands, smile wide—and if this was a regular day, that sight alone would’ve made all her worries dissipate, but it’s <em>not</em> a regular day, it’s the messymessier<em>messiest</em> of days, and Lena knows that, knows it’s obvious just by the state of her room and her<em>self</em>, and Kara realizes it too, not long after she enters.</p><p>Kara pauses right in the middle of her room when she spots <em>it</em> and her eyes crinkle, eyebrows furrow together in concentration, and then in confusion, and she stares intently at Lena’s desk. </p><p>Her <em>exposing </em>desk, with lewd mocking gifts spread across every inch of its expanse.</p><p>She sees Kara scan each item, but doesn’t see any dawn of realization. </p><p>The box is there—open, contents sprawled out, in front of Kara, clear as the most weather-report-perfect day, irrefutable and Kara is—Kara is <em>looking</em>, really <em>looking</em> and Lena can tell just from the shift in her posture when she connects the dots and realizes that the package is from Veronica.</p><p>And all Lena is doing in return is blinking at her, taking slow, considerate breaths in, and then, out. She’s not rushing to an explanation just yet, doesn’t want Kara to jump to any conclusions but wants to give herself some time to draw a map for the most comprehensive explanation—</p><p>But she doesn't get the time to when she notices that Kara has started speaking (she needs to get better at listening)—she can see the movement of her jaw, can see her lips move but that’s the extent of what Lena’s brain has the capability of processing right now. </p><p>Lena’s gaze shifts from Kara’s mouth to the desk again, attempts her hardest to judge what Kara could’ve inferred, tries to apply all her four degrees into finding a way to twist it into something less embarrassing but—it’s pointless, because Kara <em>knows </em>the story behind Veronica. (And it’s Kara, anyway; lying is a non-option.)</p><p>Her vision moves from the incriminating desk to the painting of horses she just bought to hang up above her shelf, unwrapped, in the corner of her office to calm herself down, to help ground her. Then, she looks at her door, left ajar from when Kara came in, notices the wood for all its small details, to the lobby, her secretary’s desk, her next appointment’s Louboutin’s—and, then she <em>really </em>starts noticing the person properly, from her calves, to how her skirt clings to her, the silk of her most likely expensive blouse, up to her <em>definitely</em> expensive rings, her familiar long fingers, gripping—</p><p>Gripping the same fucking brown letter, with the same fucking pink heart seal.</p><p>Fuck. <em>Fuck. </em>Fuck<em>fuck</em>fuck. </p><p>She knows she’s not the best person, not God’s—or whoever-it-is-who-decided-this-Needed-To-Happen’s—favorite but...she’s not—she’s not the worst, okay? Not horrible enough to deserve this. Not that much of a sinner.</p><p>Andrea Rojas, in fucking flesh, is talking to her secretary, <em>laughing </em>with her and—oh god, she’s actually here, <em>actually </em>holding Lena’s letter, actually about to walk into Lena’s office any minute now. </p><p>Lena whips her eyes away, doesn’t want to make eye-contact, doesn’t want the accountability, just. Just wants some more fucking time to figure this mess out. Doesn’t understand why the fuck Andrea thought it was a good idea to just show up without warning.  </p><p>“I need you to kiss me,” Lena says—<em>asks</em>, finally moving her eyes back to Kara, makes it sound like a question more than a statement. </p><p>Kara drops both the bags of food on the floor, mouth hanging open as dramatically as it does in shitty anime. “You need me to <em>what</em>?” </p><p>“Kiss me. Right now, preferably,” Lena rushes out, hopes desperately that the urgency she feels is sufficiently conveyed. “No pressure but. Um. It’s sort of a personal emergency. I can explain later, but I <em>need </em>you to kiss me. Like, in the next ten sec—”</p><p>Lena sort of registers Kara glance up, sort of registers her eyes widen but before either of it fully settles in, Kara’s closing the distance between them, tugging Lena by the lapels of her jacket, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing her lips against hers. </p><p>As soon as they touch, Kara pauses, maintains the pressure but doesn’t <em>kiss </em>her and Lena tries to forget Andrea is watching, concentrates instead on how the <em>kiss</em> is too hard and too quick and too rushed to be objectively good. </p><p>(It reminds her a little of her first kiss behind Academic Block 6 in Boarding School, Veronica pushing her against the concrete, confident but shy—)</p><p>She can feel Kara breathe out from her nose, can feel the wax of her lip balm stain her lips, she feels a lot, not all of it good, not all of it bad—just, a <em>lot</em>, and it’s barely helping Lena actually unfocus. </p><p>Then, Kara relaxes, a little, and actually starts kissing her, moves her hand to grip the back of Lena’s neck, angles her face just right, licks her lips and—<em>kisses</em>, with all her might.</p><p>When Lena has counted up to four Mississippi’s (definitely enough time for Andrea to have noticed) and her lungs are protesting for another breath, slowly, she pulls away, barely notices how pink Kara’s lips are or how swollen her own feel, and she’s about to look back, subtly, but redirects her vision at the last moment to Kara, just in case.</p><p>“<em>Please</em> play along,” she says, mostly as a warning, a little breathless because of the kiss, a little breathless in anticipation. </p><p>Then, she actually looks, moves her eyes to the waiting area and, thank<em>fucking</em>fully, finds it completely empty. </p><p>Relief courses through her body in a way that’s palpable, her shoulders ease and her heart starts jogging instead of racing and her jitters calm down. Kara still has a strong grip on her waist, notices that Andrea has left about the same time Lena does and then, the arms retract.</p><p>The relief Lena feels is short-lived, because even though dealing with Andrea isn’t an immediate concern anymore…she still just kissed her fucking best friend.</p><p>And the said best friend is just…<em>staring </em>at her, dumbfounded and wary. </p><p>She stares back at Kara, deflating, cheeks pinker than usual, hands fidgety, and clears her throat. </p><p>Kara asks, then, voice shaky, unsure, “Um. About that explanation?”</p><p>Lena walks to her cabinet instead of answering, grabs her tumbler of whiskey, no glass, and sighs. </p><p>This is just <em>exactly</em> what this day needed.</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>She glances down at her phone again, heart plummeting down to her stomach when she sees two missed calls from Andrea. </p><p>Fuck. <em>Fuck</em>fuck<em>fuck. </em>Fuck times infinite raised to the power infinite times fuck. </p><p>Kara coughs, loudly, in an obvious attempt to get her attention and Lena snaps out of her trance, drags her gaze away from her phone, puts it on Do Not Disturb, and places it upside down under a stack of files she needs to finish proofreading, and meets Kara’s eyes again. </p><p>They moved to the couch around the part where Veronica and her ‘broke up’ for the fourth time—and after they went through all the main points of Lena’s tragic story and relocated to her desk, Kara has been quietly contemplating.</p><p>“Um,” Kara starts, after a pregnant pause, coughs again, rubs her hands together, so visibly uncomfortable that Lena wants to throw a lifeboat or ten at her. “Right, uh. To summarize, you sent out—” Lena glares at her and Kara cuts herself off, standing up. “<em>God</em>, sorry. Let me rephrase. Three of the letters got sent out—”</p><p>“And Lana’s was—”</p><p>“—was flushed down,” Kara completes. Lena nods, looking up at her. “R<em>iii</em>ght,” Kara says, eyebrows crinkling. She’s pacing now, a little bit, still rubbing her hands, and Lena can practically feel how sweaty her palms must be. “So. Recap. The first one—as far as we’re concerned is Sam? And, then Veronica? An—”</p><p>“All of that doesn’t <em>matter</em>,” Lena interrupts. It’s only the second time she’s talking about it and it already feels like it’s been a fucking lifetime. “The timeline doesn’t matter and this discussion does not need to be linear or chapter-wise or whatever—it’s just. <em>Okay</em>,” Lena pauses, takes a deep breath in. “We don’t care about the rest of them—” </p><p>“We only care about Andrea,” Kara guesses, eyes otherwise intensely trained on the floor only rising up to meet Lena’s in confirmation.</p><p>Lena almost grumbles, almost bangs her head to the desk, almost punches herself in the face, but chooses to take the more pragmatic approach. “Lana never got hers. I’ve spoken to Sam,” she explains, defensively, for some reason. It feels like she needs to be defensive, needs to give even more context. It’s not—it’s <em>complicated</em>, Kara needs to understand that before thinking she’s some lovesick puppy cowering behind a facade. “I can guarantee Roule—<em>Veronica</em> will forget about it within this week when she runs out of ideas to torture me. And…and <em>Andrea</em> literally showed up to my office out of the blue, okay? You <em>know </em>that. Just do the math, it adds up.”</p><p>Kara somewhat nods, too haste to be anything more than an awkward head-bob. “Okay,” she finally says. “Um. You know that—you know you don’t need to be so embarrassed about this, right? You were a kid. With things to say that couldn’t be said. Better to spit them out—in <em>whatever</em> form—than swallow them down.”</p><p>Lena’s raises her hand up to fidget with the collar of her dress. Every word Kara spoke made her heart clench tighter, made her blood flow wonky and—it felt good, fundamentally, above everything else, that kind of validation. “Thank you for saying that,” she whispers. “It would’ve done wonders to me if I heard that when I needed it more.”</p><p>Kara smiles at her, soft, mutters an <em>always </em>and walks back over to the chair across Lena, sits down, legs wide apart, gently bouncing her left foot on her toes. “So…what now? </p><p>“Now <em>nothing</em>,” Lena says. “Your role in my mess is over. You can demote to a background character and be my shoulder to cry on behind the scenes. I’m not dragging you into this,” she says, carefully, with vigor. “I’m sorry for involving you at all, I don’t know what came over me back then. I panicked—”</p><p>“<em>Hey,</em>” Kara cuts off, slow and with consideration. “Relax. I’m happy to help. I was literally about to suggest…just, letting Andrea run with it—”</p><p>As soon as the implication of what Kara means settles in, Lena gives herself a whiplash with how she quickly declines. “<em>No—</em>”</p><p>“—so <em>what if</em> she thinks we’re dating?” Kara continues anyway, ignoring her, so concerned, so <em>Kara </em>about it, so irrational, like she’s ready to jump headfirst into the Bermuda fucking Triangle just because it helps Lena out a little <em>maybe</em>. “It gets her off your case. There’s no harm in that.”</p><p>“<em>Kara</em>,” Lena says again, sharper, sterner. “I can’t ask you to do that—”</p><p>“You’re not asking, though,” Kara insists, and it makes Lena want to slam her head against a wall till she wakes up in a universe that is <em>not </em>this one.</p><p>“She’s your <em>boss</em>,” Lena replies immediately, shaking her head. “I won’t. I refuse to.”</p><p>“I mean,” Kara says, twists her hand up to scratch her neck. “Andrea already saw us kiss, how much worse can it get?”</p><p>Then, Lena’s brain grinds to a halt. They <em>did</em> kiss in front of Andrea, and—and Andrea probably thinks they’re already dating, doesn’t she? Which is actually kind of helpful, Lena thinks. Makes it less pathetic. But she’s still Kara’s boss, and—</p><p>“Look,” Kara starts, again, and Lena looks up at her. “If anything, you’d be helping me out. There’s this guy William. He’s—let’s just say I need to make it clear that I’m not interested without making it even more awkward between us. He’s a coworker, mostly decent-ish, but doesn’t seem to be getting the hint.”</p><p>Lena considers it, slowly. “And you want me to—”</p><p>“To pretend to date me,” Kara completes. “I have this CatCo gala to go to next friday, some sort of fundraiser. Andrea will be there. William will be there. If you’re my plus one...it’s killing two birds with one stone.”</p><p>Lena chews on her bottom lip, still trying to wrap her head around it properly, trying weigh the pros and the cons, and the scale seems to be pretty heavily tilted.</p><p>She sighs, tries to be rational, to keep all her bases covered. “Do we need any—um, rules?”</p><p>And, then, the tension fades away completely and Kara downright <em>laughs</em> at her, full-bodied and loud. “We’re not in <em>highschool</em>, Lena! Don’t you trust us enough to figure this out?”</p><p>“They do it in the movies!”</p><p>“The <em>movies</em>, huh? Is that your source?” Kara mocks. “What’s my line then? <em>Wait</em>—” she says, clears her throat and in the deepest voice she can probably manage, continues, “<em>Promise me you won’t fall in love with me</em>, Lena Luthor.” </p><p>“You’re not taking this seriously,” she grumbles, chuckling despite herself, shoulders finally sagging.</p><p>“What?” Kara challenges. “You want <em>serious</em>? Let me grab my pen and draw out a contract—”</p><p>Lena glares at her, is a hair’s length away from lecturing her but Kara shuts up, thankfully, with another giggle.</p><p>“Trust me,” Kara says, after a moment. “I can do this. Pretending to date you will be one of the easier things on my schedule.”</p><p>Lena nods, her mind is still racing, and the day is catching up to her, and for some reason, this is starting to seem like a not-bad idea—</p><p>“Do you want some coffee?”</p><p>“<em>Huh</em>?” </p><p>“Coffee,” Kara repeats. “It’s been…a <em>day, </em>I’m sure, and I think you’d like some coffee.” She clears her throat, and then grins. “Does my <em>girlfriend</em> want to accompany me on a coffee date?”</p><p>Lena rolls her eyes—albeit, a tad too affectionate to give the full-effect of annoyance. “We have coffee here too, Ka—”</p><p>“<em>Real </em>coffee, not that black, no sugar, no creamer crap.”</p><p>“So, not-real coffee, then—”</p><p>“You know what?” Kara starts, teasing glint in her eyes. “I’ll make a believer out of you. No girl who dates me drinks her coffee the way you drink it.”</p><p>Lena shakes her head, lips turning upwards.</p><p>“We’ll take baby steps,” Kara says. “A splash of creamer, a sprinkle of sugar—”</p><p>“Those aren’t even measuring units—”</p><p>Kara gives her an exasperated look. Lena rolls her eyes. </p><p>“Okay,” she agrees, slow, and after a moment’s consideration. “I’ll try it. If only to placate you.”</p><p>“Good,” Kara smiles. “Got worried for a sec there that I annoyed you. We’ve only been dating for a couple minutes, I wouldn’t be a good girlfriend if I bothered you just yet.”</p><p>Lena shakes her head, tugging her lips into her mouth to at least <em>try</em> to hide her unhideable smile. “When have I ever been <em>bothered</em> by you, Kara?”</p><p>“Not yet,” Kara says. “Never, hopefully, if I get to do anything about it.”</p><p>“We’re already <em>dating</em>,” Lena says, air-quotes and all. “No need to flirt.”</p><p>“The courting never ends in a healthy relationship.”</p><p>“Bring me kale from the Farmers Market if you really want to court me,” Lena laughs. “It’ll fare better than flattery.”</p><p>“Farmers Market?” Kara repeats, confused, pauses, and gives Lena the worst look of bewilderment she’s been on the receiving end of. “Is <em>that</em> what you think flirting is?”</p><p>“Is it not?” Lena asks, with genuine confusion. Kara sort of snorts, sort of tries to mask it. Lena groans, “Look, I <em>told </em>you I was bad at this.”</p><p>Kara raises her hands up in surrender, but her grin betrays her intention. “I didn’t say anything!”</p><p>“It’s actually hard to get good produce with my schedule, okay?” Lena mumbles, heat rising up her neck. “Bringing me fresh produce is romance to me.”</p><p>Kara shakes her head, in the same affectionate way Lena knows and loves, and walks up to her, around her desk, soft smile on her face. She grabs her shoulders, yanks her till she looks up at her and says, “We’ve got this, okay?” </p><p>And something about how she says it, with such determination and ease, makes Lena nod along before she even considers it.</p><p>Kara smiles wider, leans in to press a clumsy kiss on her temple. </p><p>A moment later, Kara lets go, claps her hands together and says—“The coffee, then?” and, somehow, Lena starts believing, <em>actually, </em>that things might really turn out to be okay.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>like share subscribe tweet reblog etc etc<br/>im on tumblr over here: <a href="https://jjulyingg.tumblr.com/">jjulyingg</a> let's talk!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. fwd:written kisses don’t reach their destination</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>chapter title from letters to milena by franz kafka</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They decide, three coffees in, pretty unanimously, to take it one day at a time.</p>
<p>Kara suggests a standard SFW meet-cute (inseparable best friends turned to secretive lovers—everyone will eat it up, she insists), irons out the details till they’re crisp and clear, no loose string in the fundamental story and Lena very fairly contributes by suggesting to leave it at that.</p>
<p>Nothing concrete, no set guidelines, no script, no (over)<em>thinking</em> about it and just doing what feels right. </p>
<p>(Except <em>nothing </em>about this feels right, not to Lena—)</p>
<p>(—<em>but</em> she takes the liberty to not think about that either.)</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>They don’t talk post-coffee date all the way through to Boring CatCo Gala: Secret Mission Edition.</p>
<p>And that’s incredibly inconvenient, conflicting fundamentally with Lena’s no-thinking order; her brain has always been stupid at multitasking so it makes sense that Lena is the littlest bit uneasy, a bit more wary because Kara and her talk every day, usually, even if it’s just an Instagram DM meme-tag and if they’re not following that tradition anymore because of this, if Kara is <em>ghosting </em> her, then...</p>
<p>(Then—</p>
<p>Then, Andrea or not, it’s not really worth it.)</p>
<p><em>Then</em>, she’s overthinking. And she’s not supposed to do that, so she stops and...that marks the end of it, thankfully. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The after effect of trying not to think is, in fact, thinking, unfortunately, which leads to <em>more</em> trying not to think and even though it’s a work in progress, Lena knows a relentless cycle when she sees one, so by the time the night of the gala finally arrives, everything is so overwhelming that she’s maybe an inch short of blowing up.</p>
<p>The stress is as warranted as it is unwarranted, and Lena’s always sort of been programmed to think of the worst possible scenario and that…doesn’t help, to say the least, doesn’t help when she tries to control every aspect, doesn’t help when she tries to factor in all possibilities, doesn’t help when she tries to think two steps ahead—</p>
<p>It just. Doesn’t help, does not work out. </p>
<p>It starts like this:</p>
<p>Lena insists on picking Kara up, if only for practical reasons, like having a driver, for example, for reasons like <em>convenience</em> and Kara, naturally, in turn, insists on picking herup just because (aka not practical reasons at all aka stupid as fuck reasons), and, just like that, derails her step-by-step plan because of <em>course </em>she does. </p>
<p>But she takes the high-road, because she’s nervous about the whole thing as it is, which is a huge hurdle in itself, and on top of it, the nerves make her sweaty, <em>literally</em>, which is definitely going to ruin her make-up, and—</p>
<p>It’s just that she already thinks of this as a trial-run to her fate, a testament to how good/bad/ghastly it’ll go with Andrea, ultimately speaking, (she can’t ignore her forever. However tempting that idea might be), already has all sorts of performance-anxiety, <em>but</em> she listened to corny affirmation podcasts throughout getting dressed and after performing about four different breathing exercises, she calms herself enough to feel presentable again. </p>
<p>The first thing she sees as soon as she steps out of her apartment complex is Kara standing beside an Uber Luxe, a bouquet of plumerias in her hands, suit matching the dress Lena’s wearing (she annoy-spammed her till she sent a picture, Lena doesn’t like talking about it) and a wide, goofy smile.</p>
<p>Kara’s smile drops into a confused pout when she comes closer. “You look sweaty.”</p>
<p>“Exactly what I like to hear from my date,” Lena rolls her eyes, barely restrains her urge to rush back up and retouch her make-up. “Those flowers for me?”</p>
<p>Kara <em>grins</em> and holds out the bouquet for her. “Told you I’d treat you right,” she says, bends down to kiss Lena’s cheek. “You look beautiful, Lena. As always. Sweaty or not.”</p>
<p>“You should take it down a notch or ten,” Lena laughs, gripping the flowers tight against her chest. “Don’t want my expectations for relationships to get sky high only for my next girlfriend to disappoint me.”</p>
<p>Kara’s expression turns grave. “You <em>deserve </em>this. You shouldn’t be dating anyone who doesn’t—”</p>
<p>“Joke, darling,” Lena cuts off, half-normal half-scoff, because Kara <em>knows </em>this, knows her sense of humor but always has the same set of arguments regardless (Lena has a love-hate relationship with the whole thing, honestly).</p>
<p>“I don’t like your jokes,” Kara mumbles, expectedly, but drops it after a shake of her head. “Anyway, uh,” she opens the door, gestures for Lena to get in. “After you. Get in fast, all of this waiting is adding up to my tab.”</p>
<p>“Serves you well for arguing over picking me up. You deserve that dent in your wallet. We could’ve used my car. My <em>driver</em>.”</p>
<p>“Frank deserves all the days off he can get.”</p>
<p>“True,” Lena simply agrees, chuckles and slides into the car.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“Can I ask you something?” Kara mumbles, mere minutes into their journey, eyes steadily trained to the ceiling of the Uber. </p>
<p>Lena pretends not to notice the shakiness in her voice, for the sake of her own sanity. “Of course,” she says, feather-light and soft, as comforting as can be.</p>
<p>A beat later, Kara asks, eyes flickering about in every direction like they’re unsure where to land, “Do you still—do you still <em>like </em>Andrea?”</p>
<p>“No,” Lena replies, instinctively, like it’s a reflex but her heart thumps loudly in her chest, despite everything. </p>
<p>And...it’s not a complete lie. </p>
<p>She <em>doesn’t</em> like Andrea, not anymore. There wasn’t a whole long getting over process, thankfully. Just Lena throwing herself into work (and other women, on a nightly basis, but that’s…unmentionable) to rid herself of all the jitters Andrea left. And why it’s even bothersome anymore is <em>because </em>there wasn’t any closure, because of the unwelcome remnant feelings she wasn’t able to box away, leftover from her past and carried on to her present that Lena’s been fighting to cut off from the roots.</p>
<p>It’s complicated. It’s also going to be a long as fuck ride if they continue to speak about it.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Kara replies, at least half-convinced, but still wary. “So. Do I or do I not need to punch her for breaking your heart—”</p>
<p>“She’s your <em>boss</em>,” Lena points out. </p>
<p>“Yeah, so?” Kara asks. “I’ll punch her and find a new job.”</p>
<p>“No punching required,” Lena cuts in, sharp, and Kara gets a discontent frown on her face. </p>
<p>“Right. No punching,” she confirms, put off. Hesitantly, she adds, “And…you <em>don’t</em> like her.”  </p>
<p>“Your deduction abilities are intact,” Lena replies. “I’m being honest, swear,” she says, crosses her fingers and puts them to her chest for added effect, because this whole conversation is ten times more intense than Lena can handle at the moment and she’d really like if Kara could start joking around again. So, she says, “My only true love is L-Corp now, believe it or not.”</p>
<p>“That stings,” Kara replies, finally cracking a smile. Lena sighs in relief. “I’ve been your girlfriend for—<em>what,</em> a week now? And I’m still being sidelined? That really hurts, Lena.”</p>
<p>Kara laughs then, and so does Lena and somewhere between both their laughs syncing together, the tension dissolves.</p>
<p>It starts to seem like a shorter ride thereafter.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>As soon as she steps out, all Lena can focus on is the sheer number of people there.</p>
<p>She can spot a few reporters, some paps, and even though she should be used to it by this point, something about this whole thing is making her nervous—the lights, the cameras, the attention, and also, more severely, the <em>reason</em> why she’s here. </p>
<p>It’s the kind of event people will talk about till at least next Monday, and that kind of pressure makes Lena a little dizzy.</p>
<p>And on <em>top</em> of that, to make things infinitely worse, there’s a massive fucking billboard of Andrea in a pantsuit just to her left, which almost makes Lena’s system completely crash except she can’t let that happen, can’t even let it show because there’s at least four cameras pointed right at her, and if her reaction to just a picture of Andrea is so <em>explosive</em>, she doesn’t even want to test the rest of this evening out; it’s all <em>too </em>much—</p>
<p>“<em>Hey</em>,” Kara whispers, drags Lena’s attention back to her, and <em>then, </em>physically drags her behind the poster, to relative privacy. </p>
<p>Lena just stares at her, thoughts haywire, mind still half a mile across nowhere. </p>
<p>“We don’t<em> have </em>to do this,” Kara says, after a moment, stares back at her, intent, focused, grabbing both of Lena’s hands. “You know that, right? You say the word and we can call this off and go to my place, watch a movie and figure out how to deal with it later.” She squeezes her hand, adds: “After <em>several</em> naps, of course.”</p>
<p>“No,” Lena replies, still frazzled and unfocused, but desperately trying to blink herself back to normal. She unclenches her jaw, lets out a deep breath. “We don’t need to—<em>no</em>, this is fine. I just. I don’t have any experience here,” she says. Then, quieter, “With, um, relationships in general and...all of <em>this </em>in particular. It’s out of my comfort zone.”</p>
<p>Kara’s eyes soften, bore into Lena’s with depth she doesn’t want to read into, the kind that should be disconcerting but for some reason isn’t. </p>
<p>“I’ll take care of it,” Kara promises, smiles, encouraging and sweet. “Leave it all up to me, I’ll be the best fake girlfriend in the <em>whole </em>world—I’m vowing myself to it. A good enough girlfriend to be convincing enough for the both of us.”</p>
<p>Lena lets herself unwind, doesn’t want to be so antsy and stressed and make things worse for Kara and—<em>she’s done this. </em>She’s been to galas, lied for her own benefit, mastered every form of deception and then some—she’s been the whole nine yards, alright? This shouldn’t be out of her comfort zone. She’s okay. She <em>is.</em></p>
<p>She forces out a smile, tries to chase the safety of their dynamic, tries to forget every other variable in the equation and focuses on the only constant: <em>Kara</em>. </p>
<p>“That’s quite the claim there,” she says, after a long pause, (forced and) teasing and light-hearted and everything she needs right now. “You sure you’re up for the challenge?”</p>
<p>“<em>Pfft. </em>This is child’s play, <em>baby</em>—”</p>
<p>Lena laughs, face twisting up against her will. “Okay, no. Too much. This is where I choose to draw the line.”</p>
<p>“I refuse to accept your drawn line and formally declare that I <em>will</em> overstep it. Sorry.”</p>
<p>“Okay then, <em>darling</em>,” she retorts, dragging out the term of endearment the same sickeningly sweet way Kara did, but Kara just grins in return and it doesn’t seem to bother her nearly as much. </p>
<p>“Really doesn’t annoy me,” Kara says. “Won’t work. Plan failed, baby.”</p>
<p>Lena groans.</p>
<p>(The gala will be awful, probably. Lena knows that, still has a dedicated spot for it in her brain despite all her attempts at distraction. </p>
<p>But Kara’s there. </p>
<p>And Kara <em>still</em> will be even if it goes twenty times worse than awful, and Lena knows that <em>too</em>, has an even bigger dedicated portion for it and that helps more than every other dumb distraction tactic combined.)</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The gala is the same standard CatCo gala she remembers (and hates), excessive expenditure on menial things, enough food to feed the whole crowd and their families ten times over and a perfect fit for every stereotype about rich people parties. </p>
<p>She looks around, spots some senior executives from when she was CEO that she definitely doesn’t want to make small talk with, politely smiles as quick as she can manage and looks back at Kara. </p>
<p>Who’s already staring at her, for some reason. </p>
<p>“Did I mention how pretty you look?”</p>
<p>Lena smiles. It sounds sincere enough, but Lena knows it’s just Kara being <em>Kara</em>, excessive and dramatic and putting in her 200% into something that maybe requires a 20 max. Regardless, (maybe because of Lena being <em>Lena</em>), a blush creeps its way up her neck. “Once or twice.”</p>
<p>“The sweat added a whole ‘nother layer of highlight—”</p>
<p>“<em>Shut </em>up about the sweat,” Lena whines, swatting away at Kara’s hand gestures. “You’re such a prick.”</p>
<p>“God, Lena,” Kara laughs, cheeky and in her element, solid and unwavering and dependable and everything Lena will ever want to feel okay. “Good thing you don’t have to pretend to tolerate me as a <em>date </em>after tonig—”</p>
<p>“I don’t <em>toler—</em>”</p>
<p>“<em>Joke, darling</em>,” Kara mocks, pitch unnaturally low to match Lena’s.</p>
<p>“Nevermind,” Lena says, unamused. “I stand corrected. You <em>are </em>intolerable. And I do <em>not </em>talk like that.”</p>
<p>Kara laughs again, holds out her hand and motions towards the more crowded area. “Wanna mingle?”</p>
<p>Lena takes a deep, grounding breath in. She grasps Kara’s hand, grips it properly. She’s not ashamed to admit to herself that she’s moved her merry way from <em>nervous</em> to downright <em>panicked</em>, and interaction isn’t particularly an aspect she’s looking forward to but— </p>
<p>“Okay,” she says, partly because she has no other choice, mostly because Kara’s going to be there so how bad can it even get, anyway? She concentrates on the feeling of Kara rub patterns onto her skin, manages to sound normal when she says, “Let’s do this.”</p>
<p>Kara squeezes her hand, leans in and pecks her cheek, looks at her with such intensity of affection that for a moment Lena forgets it’s fake.</p>
<p>It’s convenient, maybe, that they’ve always been sort of in the too-touchy zone for most of their friendship, even if they’re laying it on much thicker because of the <em>dating</em>—it helps, a little, in keeping the novelty to the minimum, helps Lena feel less strange. </p>
<p>But the <em>less</em> is relative, and the more outweighs it entirely. Lena <em>still</em> can’t help but feel out of her depth. </p>
<p>It’s just—</p>
<p>“We can dance instead.”</p>
<p>Lena does a double take, unsure if she heard Kara right. “<em>Huh</em>?”</p>
<p>“Danc—<em>sorry, </em>I don’t know,” Kara mutters, sheepish. “It’s just where the most people are, and you won’t have to talk—<em>uh.</em> Never mind, stupid suggestion—”</p>
<p>“Let’s dance,” Lena agrees, instantly, cuts off her ramble and watches how Kara tucks her lip in, how her lips turn upwards right as she hears it. </p>
<p>It’s the right answer, apparently makes Kara even more energetic and before Lena can fully process it, they’re whizzing past the crowd and into the center of the stage.</p>
<p>Kara’s grin is <em>wide</em>—infectious, and Lena finds herself mirroring it without a thought. </p>
<p>Under the chandelier, Lena takes the time to just...notice her. She stares, blatant, looks at how chiseled she looks, how <em>handsome</em>, how warm and how safe and it settles deep within her how there’s no one else in the whole world who could make her feel more secure than Kara—</p>
<p>“Take a picture,” Kara says, teeth peeking out of her too big smile, jostles her so weakly that it feels more like a hug. “It’ll last longer.”</p>
<p>“Fuck off,” Lena replies, automatic, but her cheeks turn a dark shade of red. She tries to mask it, desperate. “I was just noticing how <em>shabby</em> you are. Your glasses are skewed—” Kara lifts a hand up to adjust them immediately. “—and I don’t know how you managed it but your tie is all sorts of crooked.”</p>
<p>Kara pouts, settles her hand back to its position on Lena’s hips and looks down at the incriminating tie and <em>grumbles</em>. “I spent fifteen minutes perfecting it. <em>Fifteen!</em> I watched a YouTube tutorial, can you imagine?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, can, actually,” Lena chuckles, eyes steadily trained at all the wrong ways the knot is jutting out, focuses on it so hard that the rest of Kara blurs out. “It’s the most basic knot, very easy to come off.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what that—how do <em>you </em>know what that means?”</p>
<p>“Boarding school,” Lena answers, simply.</p>
<p>Kara nods, just barely, and then sighs. “Help?”</p>
<p>Lena smiles, untucks her hands from where they’ve been looped together around Kara’s shoulders and undoes the knot completely, with just a couple seconds of twisting, she manages to loop and tighten and ties a small, neat knot in place of whatever the fuck Kara did. </p>
<p>“<em>There</em>,” Lena says, gripping Kara’s biceps, steps a tad bit backwards, not enough to leave the circle of Kara’s arms, but enough to admire her handiwork. “See, now it looks perfect—”</p>
<p>“Just like you,” Kara quips back, doesn't linger, doesn’t even wait for a response before tugging Lena back in, snug against her, and starts swaying, hums the unfamiliar song right in Lena’s ear. </p>
<p>Lena rolls her eyes, feels the curve of Kara’s lips on her skin. “You’re disgustingly cheesy sometimes, you know that?”</p>
<p>“I prefer being called honest, please and thank you,” Kara chides. “<em>Hush,” </em>she says, lightly pinching Lena’s side.“More dancing, less insulting,” </p>
<p>Lena obliges, and they settle into a silence, quiet, calm, and…still dancing (sort of). </p>
<p>It’s mostly just stepping on each other’s toes and messing up all of the attempted spins and twirls and just…laughing, but it’s still the most fun she’s had in a long <em>long</em> time, and it almost feels <em>too </em> nice for an evening Lena swore she’d despise every second of.</p>
<p>When Kara finally gets tired of attempting (<em>and </em>failing at) every imaginable ballroom dance move, she firmly plants her hands back on Lena’s waist, grins at her, beads of sweat on her forehead. “Who knew dating you would subject me to so much attention?”</p>
<p>“<em>What </em>attention?”</p>
<p>“Everyone in the room is staring at you right now,” Kara deadpans, like it’s obvious.</p>
<p>Lena’s heart stutters, pace quickening. She’s never known how to deal with comments like these, and she’s already half thinking about what everyone else is thinking of her and with all her numerous attempts to <em>stop</em> doing just that, it’s…not the best activity, frankly, just makes her heart speed up even more.</p>
<p>“Maybe they’re staring at you,” Lena finally says, attempts to turn her brain off and desperately hopes that Kara ignores the breathiness of her words.</p>
<p>“No,” Kara disagrees, instantly. “They’re definitely staring at you. The guy in front of me has had his eyes planted firmly to your ass for at least thirty seconds now—<em>actually</em>, you know what—” Kara abruptly turns them. “<em>There</em> we go.”</p>
<p>“My hero,” Lena laughs, tangles her hands in Kara’s hair. “He went away, I think,” Lena tells her, sees a man, sketchy, old, stomp away from them suspiciously quickly</p>
<p>“Is my ass that bad to look at?”</p>
<p>“You have the best ass, darling,” Lena says, giggles into her words, watches how another woman takes up the man’s place, leaning against the bar with such <em>poise</em> that Lena almost wants to take a picture. “That man lacks taste—” Lena cuts herself off, when the lights glow brighter and she notices that the woman is <em>Andrea</em>. She hasn’t looked away quicker in her life. “Don’t turn, but. I’m ninety percent sure that Andrea is standing behind us.” Kara raises her eyebrows, is about to— “I said <em>don’t</em> turn!”</p>
<p>Kara stills, awkwardly, face turned 40° too right to look natural. “Yeah. Obviously.”</p>
<p>“Can you turn <em>back</em>?”</p>
<p>Kara whips her face back to the y-axis, as <em>un</em>naturally as she can manage. “In my defense, you said ninety,” Kara mumbles, grips Lena tighter around the waist for a fraction of a second and then lets go.</p>
<p>Lena takes a sharp breath in, can already feel Andrea’s gaze boring into her, but shifts her eyes from Kara and confirms nonetheless. </p>
<p>And, then, as if it was a shitty PG-13 Netflix romcom, in proper 4K ultra-HD 60 frames per second slow-motion—her eyes meet Andrea’s, lock together, intense, and just like in the shitty movie, she watches Andrea excuse herself and walk right towards her. </p>
<p>Expectedly, Lena’s fight or flightflight<em>flight</em> response kicks in—and she’s just about to run when Kara interrupts, “Why do you look so pale? She’s just <em>standing—</em>”</p>
<p>“Because—oh fuck, <em>oh </em>shit—god, um,” It’s too late. It’s definitely too late. It’s so fucking late that—”Hi, there. <em>Hello</em>! Andrea!”</p>
<p>Kara’s the one who looks pale now, eyes wide, frantic, like a massively unprepared senior about to take the fourth attempt of their SAT. “<em>Andrea</em>?” Kara whispers, and Lena sees her jolt the slightest bit as soon as Andrea rests her hand on her shoulder. Another jolt and she says, “Miss Rojas! <em>Hi</em>! God, you look, um. You look great. Wonderful gala.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Kara,” Andrea smiles, stealing very not-subtle-at-all glances at Lena. “You and your,” she hesitates, “<em>date</em>…look just as great.”</p>
<p>“My—<em>Oh</em>, Lena! Yeah—yeah, always. <em>Always</em> looks great,” Kara sputters, adjusts her glasses and grabs Lena’s hand on instinct, clasping it within hers firmly. Lena moves into Kara’s side, wounds herself around her. “Your speech was so moving.”</p>
<p>“Don’t act like I didn’t torture all of you back at the office to a point of memorization just in the last week,” Andrea laughs, rolling her eyes, but it sounds too nervous, too anxious. Lena hears her voice crack, and Andrea coughs and adds, “I have to say though,” she pauses, visibly uncomfortable, “I didn’t expect you two to—” </p>
<p>Lena settles further into Kara’s side, attaches herself there, smiles happily when Kara pulls her in closer, to the point Lena would actually be shocked if there was even an iota of space between them, and waits for Andrea to finish. </p>
<p>Andrea just shakes her head instead, runs an unsteady hand through her hair. “Nevermind. It’s—” She sighs, straightens her posture, and turns to Kara. “William’s looking for you, by the way,” she says, motions towards the general direction of the bar behind her, and Lena sees him against the counter—handsome and well-kempt with a strikingly similar wardrobe to Kara, plain button-up neatly tucked into dark slacks, coat atop, big belt securing the waist, waving an awkward <em>hello</em> towards them. “To help with the press conference,” she adds. </p>
<p>Kara’s grip never slackens, in fact Lena’s pretty sure, if anything, it’s even tighter, fingers digging into her waist. </p>
<p>Lena wants to say something, pretend they’re busy or make up any imaginable excuse, within reason or not, but before she gets the chance to even formulate that thought properly, Andrea is already motioning William closer, everything happening a little too fast for Lena to be okay with. </p>
<p>And, then, like the perfect rotten cherry on top of this disaster, Andrea asks, “Lena, um. Can I talk to you? In private, if that’s okay. William needs to join Kara anyway.”</p>
<p>Kara’s grip loosens for the first time in the entire night. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>In short, it wasn’t okay. At all. By any conceivable means. It was the opposite of <em>okay</em> and Lena would rather spend the night hiking up the Everest in nine-inch heels than do <em>this </em>but.</p>
<p>But Andrea <em>asked</em>. Didn’t really leave Lena a proper route for an escape, practically pushed her into this. </p>
<p>And now, she’s here. Which, again, isn’t okay.</p>
<p>It goes like this: Andrea looks as uncomfortable as Lena feels, looks just as finicky, just as awkward and all Lena can think is how much she doesn’t want to be doing this right now.</p>
<p>There’s silence, a lot of it.  </p>
<p>By the time Andrea finally begins, Lena has gone through at least three cycles of agony. “So—”</p>
<p>“You really want to do this <em>here</em>?” Lena interrupts, despite herself, says it just as she thinks it, without really pausing. She’s cooled down and heated up so many times over in just the past minute that she thinks it corrupted her basic sense of filtration.</p>
<p>Andrea furrows her eyes. “I didn’t even say anything.”</p>
<p>“Oh, <em>come</em> on, you know what I’m talking about. Do you reallythink <em>this</em> is the time and place to—”</p>
<p>“Can you come by sometime?” Andrea cuts off. </p>
<p>Lena’s brain short-circuits. <em>Come by</em> plays on repeat in her head, sounds more and more like an ultimatum or a warrant <em>or </em>a fucking death wish and—</p>
<p>“Stop looking at me like I’m going to <em>murder </em>you,” Andrea says, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t pull you aside to confront you or whatever it is you’re thinking. No malicious intent, I promise. Just wanted to extend a friendly invitation for breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner. Whatever you prefer.”</p>
<p>Lena takes a moment for the words to absorb, and—</p>
<p>“I didn’t send it,” she replies, in a haste, says it so fast that it drowns out the <em>I don’t prefer any </em>that she’s thinking. It’s not exactly following the script Andrea layed out for them, but she’d rather construct her own blueprint, jump a few scenes and save herself the embarrassment. “I wrote it. Long back. And it accidentally got out.”</p>
<p>Andrea’s lips quiver the barest bit, she bites her bottom lip, tucks it in her mouth, like she’s holding herself back from saying something. “Okay.”</p>
<p>“I just needed to let that out,” Lena explains, and the embarrassment she was trying to avoid catches up to her. “Sorry.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Andrea repeats, gentler. “I didn’t—<em>don’t</em> want to discuss that here. Okay, uh. Rewind. You didn’t answer my question.”</p>
<p>What? “<em>What?</em>”</p>
<p>“Will you?” Andrea asks—<em>insists</em>. “Come by sometime?”</p>
<p>“I thought—”</p>
<p>“I know what you thought,” Andrea cuts off, big blue eyes staring right <em>into</em> her. “Yes or no?”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Lena relents, holding Andrea’s stare. It still kind of burns, somehow. “I’ll come by when I’m free.”</p>
<p>Andrea smiles at her, reaches out to cup her elbow, squeezes and goes back into the party. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The gala leaves her emotionally and physically exhausted in the same way most galas do. </p>
<p>She feels like she’s melting off, a little bit. Somewhere between the gruellinginteraction with Andrea and saving Kara from William’s literal grasp about four times, she thinks her bones liquefied right into her blood at some point and she definitely feels more water than human, boneless and tingly and tired, which is for sure a weird thing and—</p>
<p>Kara helps her deal with it. A little. A lot.</p>
<p>Politely brushes off the investors seeking her out, steadies Lena and lets her sag against her for the rest of the dances, swaps her Oxfords for her heels when her feet start to ache (even when Kara only manages to fit in, like, three of her toes at best and leaves the rest up to the strength of her calves), carries both their coats, Lena’s purse <em>and </em>most of <em>Lena</em> all the way down the stairs and to her car (also agrees on the whole driver issue, finally) and helps her in the way Kara always helps her, where she just looks at Lena get overwhelmed and then becomes fucking Supergirl or something, takes the steering wheel and...handles everything. </p>
<p>Lena just loves her lots.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Lena wakes up <em>exhausted</em>. </p>
<p>Her phone greets her in the morning even before her alarm set at <em>5</em> AM does, which is...a thing, apparently. </p>
<p>With bleary eyes and a strange numbness in her right arm that she barely manages to wiggle some feeling back into, she unlocks her phone to two notifications, both texts from Andrea. Which is another <em>thing</em>, apparently.</p>
<p>Lena knows it’s a bit too early for this, and she almost goes back to sleep but curiosity gets the best of her, and she opens up her messaging app.</p>
<p>The first text asks her if she’s free anytime this week, and the second is a short <em>you and kara are cute! ❤️</em> that gives her both a headache and relief simultaneously.</p>
<p>It hits her then, all of a sudden, that the fact that she’ll have to confront Andrea is a matter of <em>when </em>and not <em>if </em>anymore, that there’s no other way about it, that’s she’ll be having an actual proper long sit-down conversation with her soon and it’s quicksand she’s sinking further down into and it sits in her belly heavy like a fuckton of bricks, makes her heart drop and then plummet. </p>
<p>Then the realization <em>really </em>settles, the bricks multiply and multiply over and over till she has to ground herself—Sam was easy, Veronica was non-existent.</p>
<p>Just the <em>thought </em>of Andrea makes her want to rearrange her organs inside-out and upside-down till she becomes a new person altogether.</p>
<p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p>
<p>When her morning starts more properly with an almost overflowing cup of the weird sugar-creamer-coffee concoction she’s embarrassed she’s drinking, Lena decides to deal with things a little more efficiently, decides to do everything in her power to make sure her schedule for the next indiscernible stretch of time remains as packed as possible and everyone in the whole world knows it. </p>
<p>That is, Lena <em>flees.</em></p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Kara insists they keep up with all their weekly traditions, that the <em>dating </em>doesn’t change anything, especially not how their friendship works. </p>
<p>They’ve canceled weekly traditions so <em>often </em>that at this point Lena’s sure they stray from them more often than they follow them, and it’s maybe the first time since their initial six months of friendship that they’ve met up for all their plans religiously...but Kara says it’s important, that it should be treated like an utmost priority so Lena goes with it.</p>
<p>As soon as Kara is within hearing distance, squeezing herself between the last couple tables that lead to the more secluded area in their favorite bakery, Lena can’t help but rush out, “Andrea wants to meet me.”</p>
<p>Realistically, she should be used to it by now. Meeting people she has an awkward history with is a pretty standard part of her job. Maintaining fake smiles, (un)healthy banter, hypocritical diplomacy, stilted laughs—they’re prerequisites and Lena <em>knows </em>that, desperately tries to remind herself of it, tries to reinforce that in the grander scheme of things it’ll just be a regular day.</p>
<p>Kara takes her time to settle down, doesn’t particularly react to her outburst immediately. “That’s a weird way to say hi.”</p>
<p>“<em>Kara.</em>”</p>
<p>“Ok<em>aaa</em>y, sorry. When?”</p>
<p>“Tomorrow,” Lena whines. “12 PM. She found my only free spot in the next two weeks. Can you <em>believe</em> she checked in with my assistant?”</p>
<p>“Not even a little surprised," Kara shrugs. "We still have more than half a day to prepare—”</p>
<p>“I’m not being paranoid, right? It definitely has to be about the <em>letter</em>, right?”</p>
<p>Kara rolls her eyes. “Step one in my preparation guide is staying calm.”</p>
<p>“I can’t stay <em>calm</em>—”</p>
<p>“It’ll be <em>okay</em>,” Kara cuts in. “You wrote it long back. She’ll unders—”</p>
<p>“I don’t want her to <em>understand</em>. I want her to forget. I want her to not know. I want her to move on—”</p>
<p>“Calm down,” Kara repeats, and Lena tries not to tune into how loud her heart’s hammering in her throat. “Look. It won’t be that bad. And if it <em>is </em>and you need an out at any point, just give me a ring and I'll make up a medical emergency.”</p>
<p>“Make up a medical emergency to help me escape from your workplace in a meeting with your boss?”</p>
<p>“I never said it would be <em>easy</em>, I just said I’d do it.” </p>
<p>Kara looks so serious about it that it makes Lena laugh, which in turn makes <em>Kara </em>laugh, and her heartrate finally slows.</p>
<p><em>Calm down, </em>Lena tells herself, repeats it in her head for the rest of the day.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Andrea is all smiles when Lena walks into her office at 12:02pm dot, (the two extra minutes accounted for because of all the time Lena took to gather up courage/shove down emotions/etc etc—she’s otherwise very punctual, thank you very much) greeted with the same soft smile that Lena hates she knows like the back of her hand. </p>
<p>The hug they share is brief, thankfully, short and business-like, a hug between two colleagues rather than old friends (<em>?</em>), and Lena wants to give that thought more time to unravel, wants to know if it <em>means </em>something underneath the surface, if it works in her favor or against or if it means something completely different or nothing at all, but between walking in and getting seated, she doesn’t get enough time to draw a conclusion.</p>
<p>Andrea’s office is—<em>well</em>. It’s pretty much just…Lena’s office, technically. Nothing has changed since she left, no grand makeover, no change of tiles or wallpapers or furniture or <em>anything </em>and the familiarity should help her ease in, but.</p>
<p>She’s still jittery, still uneasy, like her skin is on fire and her bones are too jiggly, reminiscent of how she used to always get around Andrea but this time it’s in a bad way, like it’s rooted in something entirely different—</p>
<p>“Coffee?” Andrea asks, interrupting her thoughts, settling behind the large desk Lena remembers sitting on the other side of countless times. “I can order us some. You still like it plain black, right?”</p>
<p>Lena almost nods, mechanically, but when her brain jerks back into motion she stops herself at the last second. “A splash of creamer and a sprinkle of sugar would be perfect, if that’s okay,” she says, voice surprisingly even. </p>
<p>“Of course it’s okay,” Andrea replies, but stares at her all weird, a curious expression adorning her features. She snaps out of it quickly and smiles again. “Splash of creamer and a sprinkle of sugar coming right up,” she says, and relays the order to someone over the phone. </p>
<p>“The office is the same,” Lena blurts out, idiotically, as soon as Andrea puts the phone down, needs to say something, needs to hold the reins, needs to buy herself more<em> time.</em></p>
<p>Andrea raises an eyebrow, tilts her head sideways. “You’ve been to my office before.”</p>
<p>“That was—” Lena stops. Oh god, <em>why </em>did she have to bring it up? “Um. That was when you just moved. I thought you’d switch things up. Make it your own.”</p>
<p>“I’ve always liked your taste. Didn’t feel the need to,” Andrea simply says, brushes off some invisible lint from the pad of her blazer. “Why waste money, right?”</p>
<p>Lena wants to say something stupid, wants to say something petty and uncalled for, like, <em>what do you call the extra 300 million for CatCo then? </em>but, ultimately, chooses to stick with a much more pleasant: “R<em>iii</em>ght.”</p>
<p><em>God, </em>she feels even <em>more </em>awkward than before. </p>
<p>The coffee coming in is a short buffer, at least. And that gives Lena a little more time to compose herself, to remind her that she’s prepared and she’s okay. Then, it takes a second longer for her to reallybelieve it. <em>Calm down</em>, she repeats, like a mantra, and strangely enough, in her head it sounds like Kara. </p>
<p>“Too hot?”</p>
<p>Lena snaps her eyes up to Andrea’s, still distracted. “Huh?”</p>
<p>“The coffee? You haven’t touched it.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Lena whispers, picks up her cup and takes a tentative sip. “Yeah, sorry.”</p>
<p>“So,” Andrea begins, voice suggestive, like she’s prompting Lena to direct this conversation and maybe Lena’s landed herself in this situation, yes, but she’s not a <em>happy</em> camper, let alone willing to fucking travel-guide navigate their way through it. </p>
<p>“So,” Lena chooses to parrot, thinks it’s the only viable option in this conversation (will use it every other sentence if she has to), voice pitchy but level.</p>
<p>Andrea sighs. “You wrote me a letter,” she says, slow, careful. </p>
<p>“I did,” Lena admits, pointedly avoids the way Andrea’s shoulders sag. If Andrea wants to play with fire, so be it. Lena will grip her extinguisher as tight as she can. “<em>Wrote</em>. Past tense, yes.”</p>
<p>“It was…” Andrea continues, visibly scrambles for her next words, like she’s walking on eggshells, and that makes Lena relax a little, “surprisingly eloquent for a—<em>wait, </em>how old were you?” </p>
<p>“Seventeen?” Lena guesses, but it sounds too much like a squeak. She knows she can recite the exact date and time, would even do it if her brain functions were up to speed but. She clears her throat, coughs twice for good measure. “Yours—um. It was the last one I wrote.”</p>
<p>“Huh,” Andrea whispers, amazed, and Lena looks away. She can <em>not</em> be maintaining the signature intense-as-fuck Andrea Rojas eye contact right now. It’s literally the last fucking thing on the list of things she wants to be doing, would be negative positioned if it could. Then, Andrea’s eyes narrow. “<em>Wait.</em> You wrote others—”</p>
<p>Lena groans. “Why is that part <em>so </em>shocking to everyone?”</p>
<p>“I don’t <em>know</em>, okay? I’m new to this. You’re the kind of girl people write<em> about </em>and this role reversal feels weird.”</p>
<p>“Do I even want to ask you to elaborate?”</p>
<p>“I just. I guess I want to say—um. I was. <em>God,</em> Lena,” she says, exasperated. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”</p>
<p>“We were barely even close by that point,” Lena says quick—<em>defensive</em>, her mouth feels dry, like sandpaper, and she pauses to take another gulp of her coffee. “You didn’t want to hang out with me anymore and—there was the whole thing with your dad and Lex,” <em>and you’d never like me back. </em>“—and it was just bad timing. It was always bad timing.”</p>
<p>“I’d still—I don’t know. If I knew,” Andrea says, still staring, still intense, the blue of her eyes boring so deep into her that Lena feels naked. “I don’t know,” she repeats. “I’m just overwhelmed.”</p>
<p>“It was at the tail-end of our friendship,” Lena adds, fidgety, and somehow without her voice cracking in eighteen different places. If it was up to Lena, this conversation would be over three months ago but she continues, just for the sake of it, “You barely even noticed me—”</p>
<p>“I always noticed you,” Andrea cuts her off, more heated than Lena was ready for. She looks restless, like she doesn’t want to stop talking about it anytime soon and just considering that makes Lena want to puke. “I was dumb, okay? Things got blurry and my father’s business was going to shit and—it wasn’t you, you have to know that. I <em>always </em>noticed you, <em>always </em>wanted you, <em>always </em>needed you—okay? It’s—it was never <em>you.</em>”</p>
<p>Lena nods, feels the skin of her cheeks heat up. She doesn't have much to say anymore, mostly wants to go back to bed and bury herself in a mountain of blankets, so she nods twice more to compensate.</p>
<p>“I cried when I read the letter,” Andrea says, after a short pause. “It was <em>torture.</em> Knowing I’d hurt you? Even if I didn’t mean to, I can’t—” she takes a deep breath, clenches her fist. “Every time I look at you I’m reminded of all the horrible things I’ve done.”</p>
<p>Lena lets that sit and simmer for about seven seconds before rejecting it and shoving it into a far corner of her overclogged brain. The <em>every time I look at you all I remember is pain </em>sits right at the top of her tongue, fighting its way out but Andrea looks like she’s on the verge of tears, and Lena holds herself back.</p>
<p>“You were always convinced you were gonna get hurt, you know?” Andrea adds, when the silence between them crosses the minute mark. She looks down at her coffee, and then grabs a flask—of <em>whiskey</em>?—spikes it, and downs it. Another minute passes. “You thought you’d get hurt and you’d prepare yourself for it and—I was a kid, too, okay? I was just—I wanted you so <em>much</em> but I’d hate myself if I hurt you and—I was just a <em>kid</em>.”</p>
<p>Lena takes in a sharp breath, bites the inside of her cheeks till it draws blood. “I get it,” she replies, slow, soft. </p>
<p>“I know I made a lot of dumb decisions,” Andrea mutters, rolling her empty mug between her hands, face downcasted, smile empty. “So dumb that they cost me my best friend—you’ll always be my biggest <em>what if</em>, you know? Like, the massive, glaring <em>what if</em>. The one I’ll always think about before I fall asleep on the bad days for the rest of my fucking life.”</p>
<p>Lena wants to say something, wants to swallow her entire face but her throat feels like the Sahara—scratchy, dry, and Lena croaks unattractively to make up for it, and then gulps down her coffee—not-spiked—four big etiquette-defying gulps to finish it off.  “Why are you telling me this <em>now</em>?”</p>
<p>“I miss you,” Andrea answers, like it’s the simplest thing in the world and Lena feels all her other thoughts mute. “I miss having you in my orbit.”</p>
<p>Lena feels herself uncoil. “You still have—”</p>
<p>“You know that’s not what I mean,” Andrea sighs. She looks up at the roof of the office for a few long moments. “I want to <em>really</em> start over. Rebuild our foundation from ground-up.”</p>
<p>“Who says we can’t?” Lena asks, because Andrea sounds so sincere, and this is everything Lena had fantasized about since forever. Just the thought of having her friend back makes all of Lena’s nerve endings light up like firecrackers.</p>
<p>“No one,” Andrea smiles, <em>really </em>smiles. “To a fresh start, then?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Lena whispers, soft, and really digests Andrea’s words. “Fresh start,” she repeats.</p>
<p>“So, um. Are we…are we okay?” Andrea asks, still fumbling and hesitant. “How much of a fresh start are we talking? Do I get to call you when I’m having a shitty day? Do we go back to that? <em>Or</em>, like, do I need to work my way up and we meet strictly for business—”</p>
<p>“<em>Andy</em>,” Lena interrupts. “We’re okay. We’re the okayest we’ve been in a long, long time.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure? Because I would literally do <em>anything—</em>”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to,” Lena says, but then, something in her brain clicks into place. “Wait. <em>Anything</em>?”</p>
<p>Andrea’s eyes widen, face scrunches up in confusion. “...<em>yes</em>?”</p>
<p>“Okay. Okay, so,” Lena begins, “by any chance…would you have the letter on you? Right now?”</p>
<p>Andrea narrows her eyes, and raises a threatening eyebrow. “Why?”</p>
<p>“I’m going to need it back.”</p>
<p>Andrea’s eyes narrow down even more. She repeats, again, dragging out the word, “<em>Why</em>?”</p>
<p>“I wrote it, a <em>very </em>long time ago—and I don’t necessarily remember what I said so. I guess I just want to know how embarrassed I should be.”</p>
<p>“You should be maybe a <em>teeny</em> bit embarrassed.” Then, Andrea smiles, wide, lips twitching upwards, “I’m not particularly opposed to giving you snippets. At this point, I’ve reread it so many times I have it practically memorized. Or, <em>ooo</em>, wait, we could dissect it like Lit teachers—what was it? How my,” she starts, and then puffs her chest up, exaggerated, “<em>accent always rolled softer when I was sleepy</em>—“</p>
<p>Lena flushes, and just hearing her own words repeated back to her gives her a whiplash, the worst kind of deja-vu. She interrupts with a quick: “Okay, <em>no. </em>We are <em>not </em>doing this—”</p>
<p>“—Or how I’d <em>hold you tighter than you’d—“</em></p>
<p>“<em>Andrea</em>,” Lena pleads, cutting her off, would literally drop to her fucking knees and beg if it comes down to it. “Can we <em>not</em>?”</p>
<p>“Should I not mention how <em>kissable</em> my scar was—”</p>
<p>“Please <em>stop</em>,” Lena says, this time louder, burying her face into her hands. “For the sake of my mental health. I was <em>little</em> and <em>pathetic</em> and—”</p>
<p>Andrea laughs, the same unfiltered giggle that used to be Lena’s favorite sound. “You were never pathetic, Lena. You were always perfect, okay? Don’t worry. You’ve been consistent with that.”</p>
<p>Lena smiles, “And <em>you’</em>re just as much of a nuisance.”</p>
<p>Andrea shakes her head, and then reaches down to a compartment under her desk and takes out the letter. “I’ll give it to you, on <em>one </em>condition. You have to return it. I need proof that <em>the </em>Lena Luthor liked <em>me.</em>”</p>
<p>Lena sighs. “<em>Andr</em>—”</p>
<p>“Those are my terms,” she cuts off, waving the letter back towards her. “Take it or leave it.”</p>
<p>“<em>Fine</em>,” she agrees, and grabs it from Andrea’s outstretched hand, light as ever.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Once Lena texts both Kara and Andrea that she’s gotten home safe (Andrea <em>demanded </em>it, as soon as she left) (Kara has been adamant on receiving periodic updates about her whereabouts ever since her first assassination attempt), she sets the letter down on her desk. </p>
<p>It’s in the darkness of her apartment that she finds the courage to open it, to rip apart the envelope and look at the pages inside, in neat block letters, print-perfect handwriting, she reads the first sentence: <em>I think I’ll always be in love with you.</em> Followed by:<em> That’s a problem. </em></p>
<p>Lena snaps her eyes shut, folds the letter haphazardly to fit into its previous creases and stuffs it into the envelope and then into her purse. </p>
<p>She doesn’t want to read it, for some reason. Doesn’t <em>need </em>to. What she needs is to be alone. And, maybe, drink/sleep it off. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>What she ends up <em>actually</em> doing is going to Kara’s. To <em>not</em> talk about it. </p>
<p>Kara doesn’t ask, Lena doesn’t tell—they absolutely, through the course of the entire night, do not mention any of it.</p>
<p>(They <em>do </em>hug about it though. A good chunk of the time.</p>
<p>Fair enough, right?)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>tumblr: <a href="https://jjulyingg.tumblr.com/">jjulyingg</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. bcc:rewrite this whole life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>chapter title from backwards by warsan shire</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It scares her a little bit, just how much she’s beginning to rely on Kara. </p><p>Not even for just the fake-dating or the Andrea stuff but for...comfort and peace of mind and <em>everything</em>. </p><p>Even more than before. And that’s really saying something because before was a lot in and of itself. </p><p>It scares her, absolutely fucking terrifies her, but she chooses to ignore it for the sake of her own mental stability, puts it on the backburner and then on an entirely different stove, and prays it doesn’t boil over and demand her immediate attention anytime soon.</p><p>It also does genuinely work, she thinks. Because when Kara is shoving half a tub of ice cream down her throat, all that other garbage that could’ve been plaguing her mind is miles away.</p><p>“Andrea said you’re gorgeous, by the way,” Lena says, after a considerable gap, conversationally. She swallows the spoonful of ice cream Kara was intent on force feeding her. “Raved a little about your articles and said you were a gem.”</p><p>“That sounds fake,” Kara says, nose scrunching up. “Doesn’t sound like the Andrea I know. The Andrea I know is <em>mean</em> and won’t say a nice word about me even if she’s paid to.”</p><p>“She’s a billionaire, Kara. There’s very little she’ll do for money,” Lena says. “But she actually—<em>genuinely</em>—couldn’t stop complimenting you, so I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>“Uh.” A faint pink blush rises up to Kara’s cheek. “That’s nice of her, then. Weird and out of character, but...nice, I guess. Dating you has its perks, huh?”</p><p>Lena chuckles. “Andy’s nice when she wants to be. But dating me or not, you being...<em>you</em> is enough to warrant that niceness regardless.”</p><p>“Me being me hasn’t fared well with any of my other past employers, bar you.”</p><p>“Well, I have more degrees than all of them combined,” Lena shrugs. “Let’s say my word has more weight to it.”</p><p>“Your word is <em>biased—</em>” </p><p>“<em>Shush</em>, darling.”</p><p>Kara rolls her eyes, but raises her hands up in surrender.</p><p>“Also, um. In other news…William asked me to be his date for Game Night.”</p><p>Lena looks up from her papers, takes three seconds to put her pen down, takes three more to process. “<em>After </em>he saw you grope me at the gala?”</p><p>Kara blushes the brightest shade of red. She sputters, wringing her hands together, “I <em>didn’t</em>—you <em>know </em>I wasn’t—”</p><p>“I was just pulling your leg, darling,” Lena laughs, cuts Kara’s (cute) ramble off. “Anyway. Stupid british boy. Game night. Date—since <em>when</em> do we do <em>dates </em>at game night?”</p><p>“Yeah,” she mumbles. Coughs. “Yes. <em>Exactly,</em>” Kara sighs, nose wrinkling in disgust. “That was such a strange thing to ask. Maybe because Nia and Brainy <em>and </em>Alex and Kelly are always all gross and in love?”</p><p>“Don’t blame my OTPs,” Lena scoffs, smile unwavering. “I’m assuming you declined. The date with William, that is.”</p><p>“Apparently saying no once was not enough.”</p><p>“It never is with the guys you hang around.” Lena rolls her eyes, pointedly ignores Kara’s <em>hey. “</em>You sure know how to pick them.”</p><p>“Not my fault,” Kara grumbles. “Could you come with me?” Kara asks. “To game night.”</p><p>“Unless my standing invitation had been revoked behind my back,” Lena raises an eyebrow, “I was <em>already </em>coming to Game Night.”</p><p>“No. <em>Yes. </em>I meant <em>with me </em>with me,” Kara emphasizes, meek. “Like, a date, I suppose. Because that’s a thing that apparently happens at Game Night now.”</p><p>Lena does a double take. She didn’t realize they were still doing <em>that</em>? </p><p>Then, Kara not-so-swiftly adds, mostly under her breath, but clear enough for Lena to understand. “Because I, um. I told him you’re accompanying me.” She pauses, hesitant, hands fidgeting together, “Is that—that’s okay, right? Would you want to be my date?”</p><p>Lena considers it for a moment. “Why won’t it be?” she replies, easily, sensing how nervous it makes Kara. She <em>is </em>the fake-girlfriend after all. </p><p>“Good,” Kara says, fingers twitching restlessly on her lap, gripping the fabric of her slacks. “<em>Good. </em>That’s g—”</p><p>“<em>Hey,</em>” Lena says, and before she can stop herself, she lays a hand firmly atop Kara’s. Kara’s fingers stop at once, warm below her hand. “Why are you so nervous?”</p><p>“I’m not nervous,” Kara dismisses, retracking her hand. “<em>You’re </em>nervous.”</p><p>Kara throws a paper plate at her then, before Lena can say or do anything. And then moves to finish off the rest of her pad-thai. </p><p>All in all, it’s a pretty standard Sunday. </p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>It’s a pretty standard rest of the week too. </p><p>Until Game Night arrives. </p><p>And Lena’s far from the person she was two Christmases back, the one who had a practice session before every Game Night and memorized all the rules for all the games Kara owned just to be extra extra sure—she’s leaps ahead of <em>that</em> atrocity, promise—but that does <em>not </em>mean that the whole thing gives her any less stress.</p><p>She isn’t particularly nervous about it, but she’s not <em>not </em>nervous either. She’s a little in between, maybe even tipped a tad towards the nervous side on the scale but no one besides her needs to know that. No one besides her will be able to <em>tell</em>, because she’s Lena Luthor and if there’s one thing in the world she’s got down, it’s a resting bitch face.</p><p>Except before she can put all of that motivation to <em>use</em>, or even fucking raise her fist high enough to knock, Kara is already opening the door for her, then sneaking out, pulling her sideways and shutting it close behind her.</p><p>Which…is confusing (and unplanned. and not helpful for her mental health. and most likely super unnecessary—) to say the least. Lena definitely thinks she missed the memo where they were supposed to publicly treat this like a secret mission and blow their cover.</p><p>“Alex,” Kara explains, in a panicked voice, with such haste that all the dots connect in Lena’s head in no time. <em>They didn’t tell Alex. </em></p><p>“<em>Okay</em>,” Lena says. She takes a long, deep breath in. “This is—” <em>fine</em>. This is fine. This seems solvable. “We can just. We’ll tell her now?”</p><p>
“<em>No</em>, you don’t get it, I <em>told </em>Alex. I told all of them—” Kara pauses, chest heaving. “I <em>lied.</em>”</p><p>“Kara—”</p><p>“I don’t like lying to Alex. I’m not <em>good</em> at lying to Alex. William came in, and I panicked and blurted it out and he repeated it so loud, so she heard and went all <em>what</em> and—” Kara rushes, words stumbling over each other. “She was so <em>happy </em>for me, Lena. So happy that I finally—“ She cuts herself off, runs a frustrated hand through her hair, smoothes out the curls just a little and sighs. “God, I don’t know what to do.”</p><p>Lena’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, she puts a comforting hand on Kara’s shoulder, tries to think of something to say (because this <em>is </em>her fault—she got them into this mess and—), some variation of <em>sorry </em>or <em>this is all because of me </em>or <em>i’m not worth all this trouble </em>that doesn’t make it sound like she’s making this about herself. “You really don’t need to—”</p><p>The door opens again, interrupts her before she can complete. </p><p>But this time, there’s Alex with Kelly peering over her shoulder, mischievous, teasing glints in their eyes.</p><p>“Ran off to greet the <em>girlfriend</em>, huh? Secret makeout sesh?” Alex asks, eyebrows wiggling, and Lena feels Kara’s shoulders tense right beneath her hands. It’s what prompts her to drop her arms to her sides and paint on a smile. “Knew you were gonna be the whipped kind.”</p><p>Kara laughs, a little awkward, a little too loud and stilted, scratches the back of her neck and looks at Lena, eyes still the slightest bit alarmed. </p><p>“Don’t tease them, Alex,” Kelly says, voice kind and light, a fond look in her eyes. “You’re no better. It must be in the Danvers’ genes.”</p><p>Alex grumbles. Kara still laughs her weird laugh again, to the point Lena is unsure why no one else is picking up on it.</p><p>Lena, for her part, just stays still. </p><p>“Get in, lovebirds,” Alex says. “You owe us an interrogation.”</p><p>“No, we don’t,” Kara quips back, raising a challenging eyebrow.</p><p>“You so <em>do</em>—”</p><p>“They don’t owe us <em>anything</em>, babe,” Kelly cuts her off, tugs at Alex’s sleeve till she follows her towards the door. “Privacy. Space. What did I tell you inside?”</p><p>Listening to their voices trail off, Lena’s smile is automatic—<em>fond</em>—seeing Kelly and Alex happy together makes her heart ache in a good way, makes her crave even a crumb of what it might feel like—that kind of happiness<em>. </em></p><p>She doesn’t think too much about it, doesn’t think she wants to, (doesn’t think she can without getting at least a little sad about it, a little jealous—and that’s. that’s not nice. she’s happy for her friends, and she doesn’t want to taint that.), and just walks in behind Kara.</p><p>Kara’s loose grip on her fingers barely grasp her hand, but still attempt to drag her forward with her.</p><p>By the time they’re inside, Alex and Kelly have already relocated to the kitchen, most likely fussing over the food. On the other side, Brainy and Nia are cuddled together closely, Nia showing him something on her phone and Brainy looking cluelessly, albeit in determined concentration. J’onn is settled next to William, taking up the couch.</p><p>Kara squeezes her hand, gaze dropping to her every other second and it’s slightly disorienting, being the centre of Kara’s attention in a way that’s so acute. </p><p>Lena takes in a breath, partly in preparation, partly in despair, squeezes Kara’s hand back twice as hard.</p><p>How bad can it even be, right?</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>The itinerary for Game Night™ is never really set in stone, always goes sideways because of something or the other, always gets swayed from this game to that to <em>no i promise this is the one</em> which takes up a good 20% of the time, but they’re finally at even numbers this time—the <em>first </em>time ever since James left, the first time William is invited. So Nia decides pretty quickly that it’s due time to explore the “cool new board game” her roommate told her about, that requires four teams of two.</p><p>It’s during the third round when it happens. </p><p>All of a sudden in between Kara’s argument with Alex, right in the <em>middle</em> of J’onn’s lucky spin, Nia says, casually, like she’s not just about to make Lena’s heart stop, “I <em>always </em>knew you two would end up together, you know? It was a matter of whenand not if, to be honest.”</p><p>Kara sputters into her beer, grasps it so tight that Lena swears she hears a crack. “Wh—<em>um</em>,” she pauses. Coughs. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“You got separation anxiety whenever Lena left for a conference, Kara,” Alex says, so naturally that Lena can tell she’s not just teasing. “I think <em>that’s</em> what she means.”</p><p>“It really wasn’t that hard to figure out,” Kelly agrees, eyes flittering between Kara and Alex. “To anyone with two eyes and a brain.”</p><p>Kara gathers herself quicker than Lena, (who actually just about stops breathing), pulls her into her side. “Yeah, well. Finally, right?”</p><p>Nia laughs. “Yeah, <em>finally</em>. I’m glad I don’t have to witness the sexual tension anymore.” </p><p>Lena’s mouth moves faster than her brain, incredulous, <em>ashamed, </em>because if they picked up on it, then <em>Kara </em>must’ve also, and what the <em>fuck</em> kind of vibes is she even giving off?—“<em>Sexual tension?”</em></p><p>Kara coughs again, and her grip on Lena’s arm becomes strong to the point of discomfort. Lena fiddles with the hem of her shirt, gulps down the rest of her drink in one swift swig to have something to do with herself.</p><p>“Yeah, like—”</p><p>“You guys—we,” Kara cuts in, interrupting Nia. “It’s my turn to roll, stop deflecting.”</p><p>And that marks the end of it, thankfully.</p><p>***</p><p>Kara somehow ends up rolling a double-six on her turn, moving them out of jail and into a jungle-looking area of the board which Lena wouldn’t know what emotion to feel about (she’s not shy to admit that she’s still wonky about the rules) if not for all the confetti in its surrounding.</p><p>Well, the confetti and Kara screaming out in celebration, rising up to her knees and fist-pumping the air. </p><p>“I would love to see you struggle to out-do <em>that,</em> baby.”</p><p>“We’re on the <em>same </em>damn team,” Lena rolls her eyes. </p><p>“Mom will want to meet her, you know?” Alex says, out of the blue, smile bright and Lena jerks her head to face her, maybe possibly looking like a deer caught in headlights. “Formally—as a girlfriend,” Alex continues, regardless. “Kelly and Lena both. We should plan a trip down there soon.”</p><p>Kara clears her throat, smile equally big but Lena can tell it’s lacking. “Of course,” she says, grabbing Lena’s hand again, squeezing it once, and then again, palm clammy, fingers twitching. (Lena just squeezes back firmer.) “Whenever our schedules match up.”</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>They choose to walk back home.</p><p>Correction: <em>Lena</em> chooses to walk back home, and Kara decides to drop her for whatever reason (the reason according to Kara is <em>it’s basic chivalry, lena, come on</em>)...which Lena has no choice but to live with.</p><p>Bidding everyone goodbye is a process, it <em>always </em>is, without fail—with Nia insisting that they <em>have </em>to play another round of whatever game she lost the most at, and Alex asking them to stay for another drink, Kelly offering up the couch—and it’s a whole long thing, bottom line. </p><p>And Lena really doesn’t mind it usually, likes the whole charade—<em>loves </em>it, honestly—even ends up staying longer for the most part, but.</p><p>But tonight is different. Tonight, she feels like she’s hanging down from six different puppet strings, and if she spends even a minute longer pretending she’s Kara’s, (pretending she <em>isn’t</em>), one of the strings will snap and she’ll probably melt into a puddle on the floor.</p><p>And with just one look at her, Kara somehow infers <em>all</em> of that. Infers how overwhelmed the night made her, how <em>exhausted</em> Lena is, and makes up exaggerated excuses about her upcoming busy workday till everyone concedes.</p><p>By the tail-end of Kara’s last argument about <em>you don’t understand, there’s this super important investor she needs to meet at the crack of dawn</em>, Lena notices her outstretched hand, notices <em>Kara, </em>really takes her in—how her sweater fits her, with all it’s obnoxiously big knits; the easy, familiar smile on her face; how the fabric strains against her bicep when Lena finally accepts her offer and gets pulled up. She notices the lengths Kara’s willing to go to for her, and it makes her heart beat out of her chest. </p><p>Kara’s grip on her hand is warm, solid, her skin soft despite the callousness. </p><p>Lena hugs Kelly and Nia goodbye, squeezes them tightly and takes Kelly’s <em>i’m so happy you guys figured it out </em>in confused stride, hugs Brainy next, even though it’s a little awkward and stilted (but to be fair, <em>has </em>improved since their first awkward limb tangle), waves J’onn a goodbye, smiles at William and shakes Alex’s hand even when the grip starts to hurt.</p><p>They walk down the hallway, hand in hand, then all the way down the stairs, then round the corner, and Kara doesn’t let go of her hand, just swings it between them so Lena doesn’t either.</p><p>“<em>So</em>?” Kara prompts, just as they reach the end of the block. “How was it?”</p><p>“For something we centered around William, I really didn’t get to interact with him as much,” Lena says, thinks it’s the most neutral of options to start with. </p><p>“Um. I’m maybe partly to blame for that—the whole Alex thing kind of eclipsed it, didn’t it?”</p><p>“Yeah...Alex was being <em>interesting</em>,” Lena says, for the lack of a better term. She snakes her hands around Kara’s elbow, leans <em>most</em> of her weight against her. “All of them were. Kelly even said something about us finally figuring it out, whatever that means.”</p><p>Kara only looks slightly alarmed for the tiniest moment, but schools it extremely fast. “<em>Oh</em>? Did she say anything else?”</p><p>“No,” Lena shakes her head. “And.Nia was very <em>Nia </em>about it. I think she clicked, like, more pictures of us today than we’ve clicked ourselves in the past three years.”</p><p>“The only picture you have on your phone is of your plant.”</p><p>“His name is Daryl, thank you.”</p><p>“You’re such a plant mom. If you spend three more minutes on Pinterest, you’ll become a lesbian stereotype.”</p><p>“Whatever, Kara,” Lena scoffs. “I only click those because <em>you </em>want to see him all the time.”</p><p>“Just wanna make sure my godson is doing okay,” Kara justifies. After a pause, she adds, “Also—Alex dragged me to a corner and yelled at me about not telling her first.”</p><p>“Sounds like Alex.”</p><p>“She also told me that you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in the past five years,” Kara says, grins as she does but Lena can sense the heaviness behind the words. </p><p>“Good,” Lena murmurs, grips her hand a tad bit harder to stop herself from saying something stupid like <em>you’re the best thing that’s happened to me ever</em>. She manages swallowing the words down, but it’s a close call. She tries to joke, “I’d have to agree to that. I <em>am </em>pretty great.”</p><p>But instead of laughing it off, Kara just whispers, “You are.” </p><p>And that’s—</p><p>It’s.</p><p>Lena doesn’t know what to do with herself, tries to brush it off as always but it’s sticking in a way it shouldn't (in a way she <em>wants </em>it to stick but forever).</p><p>So, naturally, she steers the conversation away from it.</p><p>“You couldn’t have come up with anything better?” Lena asks, because what else is she supposed to say that doesn’t make her heart hurt from how bad it’s yearning for something it can never have.  “<em>Baby</em> is all you have? Isn’t it your job to be creative?”</p><p>“Woah, <em>woah</em>,” Kara chuckles, squeezing her hand. “That’s a <em>lot</em> of questions.”</p><p>Lena just raises an eyebrow.</p><p>Kara shrugs, “It just suits you, I guess. Besides, I kind of always pictured myself calling my…<em>significant other</em> that, I don’t know.” </p><p>“So, this is <em>practice</em>, huh? I’m a lab rat,” Lena accuses, barely masking her laughter with an unconvincingly high pitch. “A guinea pig to test all your bad pet names on.”</p><p>“No,” Kara says, lips twitching upwards. “You’re just my baby.”</p><p>Lena groans, ignoring the boisterous way Kara laughs. </p><p>“Look, it’s cute,” Kara says, still giggling. “The getting under your skin part is just a bonus.”</p><p>Lena rolls her eyes, in a way that she means to come off as annoyed but...she isn’t really. It’s weird. She should be annoyed, shouldn’t she? </p><p>She’s unable to complete that thought, when Kara says, “You want to come up to mine? We could have a drink?”</p><p>“I think I’ve hit my limit with drinks today, darling,” Lena smiles.</p><p>“Not a <em>drink </em>drink,” Kara says, unhelpfully. “I meant more along the lines of...ginger tea? Barry’s, maybe? Or. Um. A kale smoothie?”</p><p><em>That </em>catches her off guard. “<em>Kale </em>smoothie—you have kale at your place?” Lena quirks up an eyebrow. Kara <em>never </em>has any vegetables at her place, wrinkles her nose in disgust and looks the other way when she even sees a hint of green. “You don’t even like kale.”</p><p>“<em>You </em>like kale,” she says, like it’s explanation enough, shrugs a shoulder and adds: “I keep it stocked. It’s also, um, fresh produce,” Kara says, scratching the back of her neck. “I meant to give it to you tomorrow, but you’re here now, so.”</p><p>“You really went to the Farmer’s Mark—<em>Kara. </em>You’re a sweetheart.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Kara mumbles, redder than she should be, scratching at the back of her neck.</p><p>“I guess I <em>have </em>to accompany you now. You’ve left me no choice—lured me right in.”</p><p>And then. Then, they have a smoothie. Singular. Share it because Kara’s nose scrunches up in disgust at the very thought of consuming one whole glass of <em>leaf juice</em>—her words, and settles on a reluctant few sips from Lena’s.</p><p>(Lena struggles to sleep when she’s back home. Alone. She tries and tries and <em>tries</em>, but there’s a strange tightness in her chest that’s making her heart thump quicker.</p><p>She’s not even sure what’s happening anymore, but she pretends, for the sake of it.</p><p>That’s one thing she thinks she’s becoming a pro at nowadays, anyway.)</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>Ideally, Andrea’s invitation was supposed to be...swept under the rug. </p><p>It was something she’d mentioned off-handedly over an obscure text, and Lena had agreed just to placate her, thought it’d end up like a general everyday <em>let’s catch up soon! </em>tends to—but Andrea was strangely persistent about it, kept reminding her, kept matching up schedules, even went to lengths of sharing her Google Calendar. </p><p>Which is why Lena decides to go for the nonchalant approach at lunch. </p><p>“Andrea invited us over, by the way,” Lena starts in the middle of stirring her tea, as unbothered as can be, even when Kara’s ears visibly perk up. “A Disney movie marathon at her boyfriend’s. He has a home theatre and some uncut original stuff? The limited edition exclusive kind.”</p><p>Kara’s eyes widen the moment she mentions Disney, and just get progressively bigger and bigger with every word. Then, as if the whole implied date part Lena had spent days freaking out about is secondary, she says, “I was in agreement the second you said Disney, and <em>limited edition</em> at that? Literally nothing else matters to me—I’m 100% in.”</p><p>“She means it as—um. A double date, kind of?”</p><p>Kara looks at her all intense, like she’s studying her. “Yeah?” Kara prompts, eyebrows crinkling, unsure, sounds like she’s confused, like she doesn’t really get where Lena’s going. “Are double dates...not your thing?”</p><p><em>Huh? </em>“Huh? That’s not—it’s not that,” Lena replies, haste, because it’s <em>not</em>. “It’s just. If you’re—um. I’ll survive it...if it comes down to it—”</p><p>“We can head home early and settle in for a movie at my place instead, if things go south,” Kara suggests, sincere and intuitive but <em>so </em>fucking frustratingly because <em>that </em>is not the part Lena’s nervous about. </p><p>“Come on,” Lena scoffs, because even the implication that she’d be nervous about a <em>movie </em>date irks her in a weird unnecessary way. “I’m a businesswoman. I can handle two hours of company—even forced. I know you’re excited about the limited edition stuff, and I don’t want to ruin this for you.”</p><p>“It’s <em>okay</em>,” Kara says. “I promise. We can turn this double-date to a single-date. Have a nice quiet dinner, watch the <em>cut</em> versions. Just cancel on Andrea.”</p><p>Lena’s eyes crinkle, and she moves her gaze down to her fiddling fingers perched on her lap, they’re not—they’re <em>not </em>even dating, so if they do cancel, why would they—she shakes her head. She feels whiny, like a child, and—this makes it worse. </p><p>“I don’t want to keep you from having fun,” she says, in lieu of everything she wants to.</p><p>“<em>Hey,</em>” Kara says, as if she decided the whole thing wasn’t worth it the moment Lena showed even an iota of hesitation. “Look at me,” she says, and Lena looks up to meet her eyes. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to.”</p><p>Which makes it worse because Lena doesn’t <em>really</em> want or not want to do anything, if she’s being honest. It’s just that she can. If it’s for Kara. </p><p>“But this is—you’ll have <em>so </em>much fun.”</p><p>“Baby,” Kara says, so soft that Lena’s traitorous fucking heart now skips a beat at it. “I won’t have any fun if you’re not having fun,” she replies, with the kind of fondness that sounds much realer than it probably is. </p><p>“How do you always do that?” Lena says. “You always know what to do. Even if it’s annoyingly cheesy.”</p><p>“The whole fake thing would’ve been a crap show if I didn’t know what to say to you, wouldn't it?” Kara laughs. “I like being attuned to you. It makes me happy.”</p><p>“Yeah, well,” Lena laughs, stilted. “Teamwork makes the dream work, right? It goes both ways.”</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>And everything goes back to normal for the rest of the lunch, none of the remnant bullshit from their conversation earlier is mentioned, none of the leftover jitters or nervousness or awkwardness, not after they both came to a mutual agreement to go for the double date. Lena has to go back to work, Kara has to go back to work. Together-separately.</p><p>But the <em>normal </em>is short-lived.</p><p>It happens like this, just when Kara’s about to step out:</p><p>Kara’s grabbing her coat and tugging the strap of her messenger bag over her shoulder and turning around to say bye, and for some godforsaken reason, Lena rises up to her toes, and it’s not until Kara’s leaning down too that what she’s doing actually catches on to her.</p><p>Lena jerks back, with such force that she stumbles and nearly falls—if not for the hand Kara wraps around her. </p><p>There’s a faint hint of embarrassment on Kara’s face, an almost blush that she just laughs off, pulls Lena up and presses a very loud, sloppy kiss to her cheek before letting go.</p><p>Lena still feels fidgety though, shell-shocked, speechless, still feels like she’s burning from what just happened, feels like it’s a Huge Deal but Kara puts a firm hand on her wrist, stops her hands from shaking and says, in the easy way she does, “Should I meet you at yours or at Russell’s?”</p><p>Lena frowns, voice even despite the fact that her heart rate is skyrocketing. “That’s not until Saturday, is it? Why are you asking me <em>now</em>?”</p><p>To distract her, probably, Lena thinks, but Kara answers before that thought can even formulate properly, “Saturday is two days away.”</p><p>“<em>Oh</em>. Russell’s is fine. Um. See you then.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Kara smiles, hoists up her bag higher on her shoulder. “Hope you have a productive rest-of-the-day. See you.”</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>In a bout of desperation (and <em>idiocy</em>) she sends Sam three mirror selfies, of the three potential outfit options she wracked her brain thinking of—a direct consequence of spending <em>way</em> too much time deciding an outfit to go on a fake-date with her <em>best </em>friend than is deemed acceptable by any norms or standards, but...in Lena’s defense, what does <em>cute &amp; casual </em>even mean?</p><p>(Also in Lena’s defense, if overtly worrying about minor details like what she’s wearing makes her heart stop hammering because she almo<em>st kissed Kara</em>, then it is what it is.)</p><p>And, it would be fine—asking for outfit help from a friend, that is—if Sam was a normal regular person but once Lena starts getting bombarded with <em>are you going on a date </em>and <em>#1 fits cute and casual the best</em> and <em>#2 makes ur ass look good but #3 makes ur ass AND tits look good </em>and <em>wait are you going on a date with KARA?? </em>and <em>make sure to use protection!!! </em>texts in a grand total of one minute and no seconds to spare, she decides the whole help thing was a bad terrible bad awful bad <em>bad </em>idea. </p><p>(She hates Sam, she thinks.)</p><p>(She also...ends up going with outfit #3...but makes it a point not to unmute Sam for at least the rest of the day.)</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>They’re at Russell's apartment, two movies in.</p><p>Andrea’s gone all out for the date. Two loveseats, six huge bowls of popcorn, a variety of snacks, a huge collection of movies to choose from—all of it. </p><p>The way she welcomes them is nothing short of grand, but there’s still some hesitancy Lena can sense, and not just from the over-preparation. </p><p>(It’s as if Andrea’s unsure whether two civil conversations and an old letter really can erase all the history between them.)</p><p>Disney Night turns to Romcom Night somewhere along when the intersection of the two starts getting too wide and Andrea decides to take advantage by suggesting Titanic because <em>it’s for old times sake, lena, god!</em></p><p>And Lena is <em>not</em> looking at Kara. She’s watching the movie, her <em>favorite</em> at that, like the rest of them and very consciously not looking at Kara because they’re—they’re supposed to be watching the movie and Kara <em>is</em> watching it, Lena thinks. Not that she knows because she’s not looking.</p><p>Except she <em>is </em>looking, and even Kara knows she’s looking because only a second after, Kara’s staring back, eyebrows knitted together, silently checking in.</p><p>And then it’s not so silent when Lena doesn’t respond. “You okay?”</p><p>“It’s nothing, I just—” Lena stutters, jerks out from her thoughts. Kara’s looking at her, intense and attentive, eyes boring into hers. “I love you,” she whispers, without quite meaning to.</p><p>Kara breaks out into a wide grin. “I love you more, baby,” she says, voice pillow-y soft and Lena almost drowns in it—</p><p>“God, you guys are <em>sappy</em>,” Andrea groans. “How long have you even been together? How are the honeymoon phase vibes still coming off so <em>strong</em>?”</p><p>Lena lets out a deep sigh. “Thanks, Andy,” she says, doesn’t even try to answer what was probably a rhetorical question. “...I guess?”</p><p>“Wasn’t a compliment,” Andrea murmurs, which. Lena’s not dumb, she knows fond-disgust just as much as the next person who’s even mildly close with Alex Danvers. “Anyway. If you’re both done being <em>obnoxious</em>—we have a movie to finish.” </p><p>***</p><p>It’s emotional, the whole thing. As it always is. </p><p>The desperate hug, quick and messy kisses, Jack’s incessant chant of <em>you’re so stupid </em>and <em>why’d you do that</em>. And there’s people tearing up too, Andrea sniffling in her peripheral vision, and even Russell wiping his eyes with the collar of his shirt. </p><p>And it makes Lena’s head spin, makes her brain replay her and Kara’s almost-kiss on a loop—Kara leaning down, Lena <em>letting </em>her, waiting for it, even. And.</p><p>Then, it hits her. Just when Rose says <em>i couldn’t go, i couldn’t go, jack, </em>just when they reach the point of the movie where Lena’s usually always a wreck—she realizes, slowly, <em>pointedly</em>.</p><p>She’s in love with Kara Danvers.</p><p>Lena gasps/sighs/breathes-out-violently. Loud. Noticeably loud. As soon as she does it, she tries to cover it up, tries to make it look like she’s just overwhelmed because of the movie, and not because she just realized she’s in love with her best friend.</p><p>Kara grabs her hand on instinct either way, raises it up to her lips and presses the faintest kiss on her palm. She’s still looking at the screen, fully immersed—which is when Lena realizes that Kara isn’t even doing this consciously, just on...reflex. Kara drops Lena’s hand to her lap, rubs—<em>comforting?</em>—circles and lightly traces patterns onto her skin—and. </p><p>And no fucking wonder Lena fell in love. </p><p>It hits her so violently that she feels faint, like her heads overflowing and the only thing that’ll make her feel better is blurting it out, like an avalanche is crashing down and—</p><p>“<em>Kara</em>—” she says, automatic, like her body’s shutting down but knows well enough to make one last call for help. </p><p>“What’s wrong?” Kara asks, immediately, like she’s on high-alert, like she can tell Lena’s fucked just by how she said her name. “You look pale. <em>Hey</em>, babe—<em>babe</em>. What happened?”</p><p>Lena feels like she’s about to pass out. “I feel like I’m about to pass out.”</p><p>Somewhere in the background, she senses Andrea pause the movie, and cast an equally worried glance her way.</p><p>Lena nearly chokes just trying to answer. “I feel sick,” she says, struggles to get the words out coherently, but just about manages. “I don’t know what happened.”</p><p>Kara immediately raises her hand up to Lena’s forehead, eyebrows crinkling in concern, she opens her mouth to speak—</p><p>Lena passes out.</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>They leave Andrea’s about rightafter Lena opens her eyes, with Kara hovering over her, thermometer and ice pack in her hands.</p><p>On Andrea’s insistence (and partly because Lena feels like she’s already on thin ice by refusing to stay over), they don’t wait for Lena’s driver to arrive and let Andrea’s driver drop them both off instead. </p><p>Except Kara butts in too, and suddenly Lena’s headed to Kara’s as well, something about <em>first hand observation</em>.</p><p>(And it’s a bullshit reason, Lena thinks. Bullshit and completely on brand for Kara but.</p><p>Lena doesn’t have it in her to disagree.</p><p>Not when all she wants is to spend time with Kara when they’re not pretending to be something they’re not. She just<em>...wants</em> and that’s not okay anymore because the lines between <em>wanting</em> and <em>having </em>but <em>not really having</em> are all jumbled up in her head.)</p><p>“Hang in there,” Kara says, as soon as they reach. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you changed and warm and cozy. I’ll take care of you, promise.”</p><p>“You always do,” Lena mumbles, dejectedly. And the thing is, she’s not even sick—she knows she’s not, but now they’re at Kara’s and Kara’s worried about her because <em>Lena </em>led her to believe she’s sick and—</p><p>And oh <em>god </em>does she want to puke—which, okay. Maybe she’s sick a little bit. </p><p>Which is why Lena goes to change with little protest. It’s never a problem because she has her own set of clothes in one of Kara’s dressers, she knows that and she knows that Kara knows that, but either way, she borrows one of Kara’s <em>over</em>over<em>over</em>sized monstrosity of a hoodie.</p><p>When she’s done, she comes to face with a freshly showered Kara. Wordlessly, a glass of water is slid over to her. </p><p>“So I spoke to Alex,” Kara starts, crinkle between her eyes. “She said that fainting is usually not something to worry about. Especially for people with anxiety. Unless you have chest pains or dizziness?” </p><p>“I don’t,” Lena replies. “You really don’t need to worry about it—”</p><p>“You need to drink fluids,” Kara interrupts. “What are you in the mood for? Soup?”</p><p>“I’m full, darling,” Lena says, but takes a sip of the water as a compromise.</p><p>“Medicine?”</p><p>“I don’t need any.”</p><p>Kara hums, still looks wholly unsatisfied. “Are you sure you’re okay?”</p><p>“You checked my temperature <em>thrice, </em>Kara.”</p><p>“You still look very pale,” Kara says, quick and defensive, hands raised up. “I don’t want to take any risks.”</p><p>“I’m <em>okay</em>,” Lena repeats, punctuating it with all the conviction she can pack in. “Whatever happened back at Andrea’s was a...false alarm. Trust me, I am okay.”</p><p>“Okay,” Kara echoes, but still doesn’t look convinced in the slightest.</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>It’s a bit of work, convincing Kara that she's actually fine, but Lena manages after...a lot of effort and at least an honest attempt at a pout. </p><p>She does relent on the soup bit, though. And after a bowl each of Eliza’s special recipe, they settle on the couch, Kara’s head on her lap. </p><p>Kara sighs as soon as Lena puts a tentative hand on her forehead, eyes slipping shut automatically. Lena feels it, too, deeply—feels the exhaustion settle into her bones in a way that’s more than just physical, like, she’s <em>drained</em>. </p><p>Lena treads her fingers into her scalp, working her way through the tangles, running through her hand, and Kara burrows in deeper, twists her head in Lena’s lap till her face is right in her stomach.</p><p>Lena smiles, resting a lazy hand on the back of her neck, but as soon as Kara grumbles in protest, Lena resumes. “I think it’s time for bed, darling.”</p><p>And then Kara’s phone rings.</p><p>“Who’s calling me?” Kara asks, voice muffled, words vibrating onto Lena’s stomach. “<em>God</em>, you’re soft,” she whispers, so low that Lena’s unsure if she was supposed to hear it. </p><p>Lena doesn’t react, to her credit, doesn’t react to a degree where Kara’s phone stops ringing by the time she reaches for it within the pocket of her sweatpants. Then, she unlocks it—</p><p>“You have me as your <em>lockscreen</em>?” Lena asks, and it sounds more like a screech than anything else. </p><p>Kara just shrugs her shoulder and smiles. </p><p>(Kara was getting…<em>extremely </em>good at the whole faking thing.) </p><p>(Good enough that it’d been getting <em>so </em>easy to fake the whole thing, that Lena was almost forgetting it was fake in the first place.</p><p>Good enough that she’s almost positive that if Kara kept it up any longer, her new, bubbling and repressed feelings would burst out.</p><p>Good enough that she’s almost maybe only half an inch away from screwing it and kissing her.)</p><p>(It wasn’t a problem, though, not yet, not until that <em>almost</em> existed.)</p><p>(It was just…difficult. Like, climbing a really tall tree after being tired? Or like a life of rain and no sunshine? Or...<em>something</em>. </p><p>Lena doesn’t know. She’s out of literary devices. She’s out of excuses.) </p><p>“You’re taking this seriously,” Lena says, nonchalant and stealthy like she <em>had</em>n’t just been thinking about kissing her best friend, and Kara flits her gaze up to her.</p><p>Kara gives her the most confused look. “Lena, you’ve been my lockscreen ever since I took this picture,” she says, slow, like she’s explaining it to a child. Lena’s eyes widen even more, almost-like-planets-wide, like, at <em>least</em> Pluto-wide. “<em>What? </em>It’s a cute picture, c’mon.”</p><p>“How did I not know that?”</p><p>Kara shrugs. “I dunno. It was a dog I saw in front of Kelly’s apartment before this. It’s <em>dynamic</em>, Lena. Keeps changing.”</p><p>“Huh,” Lena huffs, raising an eyebrow. A part of her thinks it’s a moment worth bookmarking and revisiting later, but she buries it down, and smiles. “The call was from Andrea, by the way. Probably wants to ask if I’m alive.”</p><p>“Okay, well. I’ll complain to her about how incapable you are at taking care of yourself and you can go head to bed,” Kara teases. “I’ll join you.”</p><p>It’s not even a consideration. There’s no hesitation, no awkwardness, no weird negotiations involving couches or floors, just Lena padding over to Kara’s bed, with the type familiarity that Lena doesn’t want to think about. It’s not until much later when Kara joins her, slots herself behind Lena, with a throaty hum in Lena’s ear when she tucks her face into her neck.</p><p>“I really do love you, you know that?” Kara murmurs, honest, raw and. And that—that’s the whole problem. </p><p>Lena <em>knows</em>. She knows Kara loves her, she knows she loves Kara back but somewhere amidst this whole mess she thinks their definitions have stopped overlapping, gone from concentric circles to a Venn diagram with barely any points in intersection to proper mutually exclusive sets and it’s a little too much for Lena to think about right now, especially in Kara’s arms after what felt like the realest date she’s ever been on. </p><p>It’s probably a little too much minus all that too. Too much for any version of Lena, in any medium of space or existence.</p><p>She doesn’t say any of that, though, just says, “I love you,” back.</p><p>Kara hums in agreement, presses her lips against Lena’s shoulder in a not-kiss which doesn’t make Lena whimper (but is an extremely close call), grips her waist even tighter. </p><p>(Lena sleeps for maybe a grand total of an hour the entire night but things are okay, for now. Kara holds her close and tight and Andrea is barely even a fleeting thought in the world of her concerns and the cracks in her heart are mending, filling up, even if it’s temporary, and things <em>are </em>okay for the night and Lena can live with that.)</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>She gets the first call from Lillian on a Tuesday. </p><p>She doesn’t feel too bad about ignoring it, doesn’t feel bad about ignoring the dozen texts that come her way till Thursday either. She starts to feel maybe more annoyed than bad when her patience runs thin on Friday and she <em>does</em> attend the call...and it takes until midday Sunday for it to sink in that the dumb decision her delerious pre-weekend work-drunk brain chose to make was agreeing to meet her mother at the Luthor Manor for a gala. In Metropolis.</p><p>It doesn’t take long at all after that realization hits to complain to Kara. </p><p>And it takes even lesser for Kara to try and persuade her that bringing her along isn’t a bad idea. </p><p>“It’s not worth the trouble—” Lena says, borderline frustrated of the arguing, definitively frustrated because of the mess she got herself into.</p><p>“It <em>is</em>,” Kara insists, not missing a beat because <em>of </em>course she does. She wouldn’t be Kara Danvers if she didn’t. But they’d been circling around this part of the conversation too long, in Lena’s opinion and her patience was running thin. “<em>You </em>are.”</p><p>She doesn’t let the frustration completely seep into her tone yet, even if she’s feeling everything extra sharp. It’s a half-scoff she settles for ultimately, “You can’t really think I’m worth suffering through a weekend with <em>Lillian </em>fucking <em>Luthor—</em>”</p><p>“<em>I</em> think you’re perfect, alright?” Kara cuts in, audibly frustrated. There’s an intensity in her eyes that Lena doesn’t see often, and it makes her thoughts halt in their tracks. “Does that clear it for you? <em>I</em> think that letting you suffer through a weekend with Lillian alone without trying to meddle is the dumbest decision I could make.”</p><p>Lena’s heart skips a beat, but her brain fights it enough to let a frown make its way to her face. “You don’t have to do this, Kara, I’m serious,” she insists. </p><p>“<em>You</em> don’t have to either, is the thing. Not when I’m here for you. <em>With </em>you. You don’t need to fight your battles alone anymore.” </p><p>Lena shakes her head, tries to clear up the fog in her brain letting her think that Kara’s not wrong. Belatedly, she mumbles, “You’re—you’re not thinking clearly.”</p><p>“<em>How</em>?” Kara challenges, proper mad now—hands set firm on her hip in some sort of ridiculous superhero pose. “Who else would I do this for if not my girlfriend?”</p><p>Lena looks at her with disbelief. “Your <em>fake </em>girlfriend,” she points out. “It’s <em>not</em> worth the trouble.” </p><p>“My fake—<em>what</em>?” </p><p>Lena sees a range of emotions on Kara’s face; eyes widening, mouth falling the slightest bit agape, jaw tensing, but they’re all changing too quick for her to properly decipher even one— and then she’s back to neutral so unnaturally fast that Lena thinks she must’ve imagined it.</p><p>“Oh.” Kara’s face falters still, like it’s flickering about neutral instead of truly being it, mouth opening and closing twice before she agrees, meek and quiet, voice wavering, drifting off, “Yeah. <em>Yeah</em>, you’re right—um.”</p><p>Lena stills. She definitely did not imagine it. It’s not like she was angling for a bigger protest, but. It seemed strange for Kara to give in that easily—seemed strange overall. </p><p>“I am,” she finally chooses to say, decides to take a win for a win even if her eyebrows bunch together instinctively.</p><p>“Right,” Kara says, too quick, fists clenching and unclenching on her sides. “I should stay out of it, shouldn’t I? Your family affairs. I’m just the fake girlfriend.”</p><p>“Kar—<em>huh?</em>” </p><p>“We’re friends too, you know. <em>Best </em>friends. In case you forgot. I’m not—I’m not just your. We’re not just—”</p><p>“<em>Hey</em>,” Lena whispers, eyebrows furrowed. “<em>Hey</em>, hey, of course I know that.”</p><p>Kara stays silent, eyes wide and frantic, running a messy hand through her hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame them.</p><p>“You’re my favorite person,” Lena says, tries desperately to ground them, reaches out a hand for Kara to grab. </p><p>“Yeah?” Kara asks, not only ignoring Lena’s hand but taking a step away from her. </p><p>“Yeah,” Lena agrees easily, hopes to see Kara at least <em>smile </em>but. She’s growing more confused, and there’s not enough context to clue her in. </p><p>Lena frowns in confusion. </p><p>“Kara?” She prompts. “You okay?”</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, no, you’re right,” Kara says. Another step back. “<em>Best</em> friends,” she repeats, with a tight lipped smile, voice tight and—</p><p>And before Lena can say anything, she’s already walking all the way up to grab her coat.</p><p>“Good luck with Lillian, then,” she says, not quite meeting Lena’s eyes. She grabs her coat, whips out her phone from the pocket and makes a beeline for the door without even saying <em>bye.</em></p><p>“Wait, Kara!” Lena calls, helplessly, everything happening a bit too fast for her to catch up. </p><p>Kara does not stop. </p><p>“Kara,” she shouts again, breath growing heavy, running to the doorway. “Kara, <em>Kara, wait!</em>”</p><p>Kara stops, midway, turns around, defeated, exasperation clearly visible by the curve of her lips. “What?” She breathes out, calm, because Kara is always calm, always <em>appears</em> to be calm—always tries to appear calm, even when it’s obvious she’s not.</p><p>Lena stays, stares at her eyes, fidgety, unsure—</p><p>“<em>What</em>?” Kara repeats, but this time harsher—and maybe that entire calm thing was wrong, because Lena can see the façade break.</p><p>“I’m—Kara, don’t leave,” Lena says, finally. It’s a stupid thing to say really, a yellow light flashed too late, when Kara’s already past the darkest green with a fucking sports car.</p><p>“Why?” Kara asks, pushing her hands out of her pockets. “Why do you want me to stay?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I just—we haven’t. We haven’t even watched the movie—”</p><p>“<em>Screw </em>the movie,” Kara laughs. “We didn’t even hit play. This isn’t about the movie!”</p><p>“Then, what <em>is </em>this about, Kara?” Lena asks, unsure— “Why are you being like this? Did I say something wrong?” </p><p>“I don’t want to do this whole—” Kara cuts in, stops herself, takes a deep breath. Lena can tell she’s trying to school herself by the way her jaw twitches, and it would even work if Lena didn’t know how to read her so well. “<em>Look</em>, William isn’t a problem anymore and I’m <em>certain</em> Andrea is off your case by now, and—I <em>don’t </em>want to do this anymore, okay?”</p><p>Lena’s voice is barely a whisper when she asks, “Do what?”</p><p>“<em>This</em>!” Kara says, frustration dripping from her voice. “Whatever this is. I don’t want to be a part of it anymore.”</p><p>“What <em>happened?</em>” Lena says, might even be yelling, at this point. “What did I do wrong?”</p><p>“Nothing <em>has</em> to be wrong, does it? You convinced Andrea, I convinced William. There was always an expiry date to this,” Kara replies, voice mostly monotone, but still packed with a barely audible quiver. “We can’t keep pretending.”</p><p>Every part of Lena wants to protest, wants to say something, <em>do</em> something, argue about it or fight, but she knows that she can’t. Kara’s right. Even if that kills her, she’s <em>right. </em></p><p>“Okay,” she agrees, ultimately, after a delayed second. “No, um. That makes sense.”</p><p>Kara nods, distraught like she’s in a fight with herself. </p><p>“Can I just.” Kara squeezes her eyes shut. Pauses. She sounds tired—<em>exhausted.</em> “Can you tell me something?”</p><p>Lena just stands there. Doesn’t agree, doesn’t deny.</p><p>“That was—<em>all </em>of that was fake to you? <em>All </em>of it?” Kara asks anyway, no permission required. Lena hears her voice break in the middle of saying it, and it makes her heart twist. She’s about to answer, about to say <em>no </em>or<em> of course not </em>or <em>i’m in love with you </em>but the words die in her throat before she can and Kara cuts in, urgent, <em>angry, </em>“You know what? Please don’t answer that.”</p><p>“<em>Kara</em>, no, of cou—”</p><p>“<em>Lena</em>, please.” Kara’s eyes bore into hers pleadingly, the desperation in them makes her halt any further attempts. “You mean a lot to me. You know that. Please, just. Please let me have the last word here today.”</p><p>And Lena <em>would’ve </em>argued, she <em>would. </em>But Kara looks desperate in a way Lena hasn’t seen before, and. It makes her a teeny bit angry, if she’s being honest, because if Kara would just sit and talk, Lena’s sure there’d be no last word required but.</p><p>“Okay,” she mumbles anyway. “Okay, um. You can go. If you want.”</p><p>“We’ll talk later,” Kara says, words muted, sad. “I’ll—I’ll call you, okay?”</p><p>Kara smiles, looks towards the exit and then towards Lena, leans in in the last second, and presses the briefest of kisses to the corner of her mouth, so gentle it’s barely there, and then Kara smiles timidly again, the same one, the same recycled smile that hurts more than she thinks even the saddest of frowns would.</p><p>And, then, she walks away, doesn’t look back, doesn’t turn around—just leaves.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ok honestly ive been staring at this for months now and its not getting better so.....for the one person still interested: here it is?<br/>anyway tumblr: <a href="https://jjulyingg.tumblr.com/">jjulyingg</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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